The Potioneer (Shadeborn Book 3) (24 page)

“Go!” Salem demanded as he shoved Lily, then he let out a cry of pain as though something had stabbed him in the back.

Lily tried to lean over to see what had hurt him, and a shard of glass caught her straight across the forehead with a wide, slashing motion, like the strike of a sword. If Salem hadn’t pushed her back already, Lily fancied that that shard of glass might have embedded itself straight into her head. The force of the explosion was unnaturally large, and Salem had six or seven small pieces of glass protruding from his back as he and Lily ran out of the dark and suddenly dangerous club.

Lily was much less injured as she fled the scene, though the blood pouring from her forehead was running down into her eyes, masking her vision with a great red veil as she ran through the night. Yet, even as she ran, the instinctive magic that so often lay untapped within her blood began to stir. She was casting with blood again, this time her own, and as she and Salem raced back towards the safety of their theatre home, the drops of crimson liquid in her eyes shot away into the shadows.

Open Sores

“I’m not entirely sure that Salem-fixed is any better than Salem-suicidal,” Novel mused.

He dabbed at the wide gash on Lily’s forehead and she winced, letting out a little hiss. The wound was more painful than she was willing to let on, because the worry on the illusionist’s pale face was bad enough, without Lily having to admit that she’d gotten herself into another bad luck situation. When the djinn in the Dreamstate had warned her that he would find a new approach to gaining his vengeance, Lily had never imagined he had the power to do something so spectacularly violent. Now, she was putting every last drop of her energy into trying not to tremble as Novel raised a glowing blue starlight stone over her head-wound.

“I know Salem still irritates you no end,” Lily replied, “but it must have been so hard for him this year. I can’t imagine losing the thing that makes you who you are, the thing most important to you in the world.”

“No, you can’t,” Novel answered solemnly, “and that’s why you’re in this state now. If you had a better idea of the risks at hand…”

Lily bristled at that, and Novel put his palm firmly on her shoulder, as if he could sense she might have wanted to storm off, or begun to argue with him. They were both sitting cross-legged in the centre of the four poster bed, and Lily had barely opened her mouth to answer back when Novel began talking again.

“I’m running out of options to keep you safe, Lily,” he cut in, his voice tense. “Do you think I want to spend the next seven years wondering if every day I spend with you will be our last?”

Any argument Lily might have had a moment before was gone in a heartbeat. She felt that guilt again, the one that was constantly eating away at her soul, and when Novel cast his eyes down towards the black sheets, she was glad. She knew she couldn’t meet his eye after a question like that, not when there was still a part of her mind considering Salem’s plan to betray him. The illusionist’s lips twitched at the corner, every part of him taught, like a spring stretched to its maxim.

“I saw you laid out lifeless once,” Novel mused in a quieter voice. “If it happens this time, I don’t know if I can bring you back. Seeing Aurélie again has brought a great deal back to my memory, things I refused to face the last time around. I can’t go through this again, not a third time.”

“Third?” Lily repeated at once, and Novel’s head sank even lower.

He was toying with the pocket of his waistcoat in a fidgety, childlike way, and Lily reached out to still his hand, forgetting where the other one was raised. The starlight stone connected with the cut on her head and she winced all over again, belated tears rushing to coat her lashes. Novel let the stone drop at once, his eyes observing the wound with a whole new concentration. His features turned hard again, like they so often did when Lily was on the verge of seeing that deep, raw person he kept locked inside the pale façade.

“What sort of man would I be if I lost my mother and didn’t grieve about it?” he said simply.

I believe we have you to thank for my sister’s death.

Pascal’s words came to Lily’s mind as quickly as Novel’s left his lips.

“Of course,” Lily answered, “I mean-”

“I don’t mean that it’s your fault,” Novel added swiftly.

He took hold of the tip of Lily’s chin and let their eyes meet again. The faint warmth of the Kindred Flame began to glow where their skin connected.

“But it sort of was,” Lily replied, and the illusionist shook his head.

“There was no other option,” Novel said sadly. “Mother gave in to her rage, and I wasn’t there to contain her. I’d never have imagined that Salem could achieve what he did to destroy her.”

There was bitterness, still, in the mention of his father’s name, and Lily rather thought that some part of Novel would never forgive Salem for his choice. Even if it had saved Lily’s life, it had still taken away someone else that Novel held dear. Lily raised her hands to slide against Novel’s neck, fingers locking at the nape to pull him close. He kissed her deeply, with a quiver in his chest that she felt, and when he pulled away again, her blood was on his forehead. Lily saw it there, daubing him, like he was painted up as the next target.

“I’ll stop looking for trouble,” Lily promised. “I mean it this time.”

Novel only nodded, but he wrapped Lily so tightly in his arms that she suspected he didn’t believe her.

The Spectrograph

It was an unseasonably cold evening, some days later, that Lily found herself gazing out of the sitting room window onto Old Mill Lane. The street was deserted, lit only by the canary yellow glow of its streetlights, and there was no particular reason that anyone ought to have been watching such a lifeless display, yet Lily felt something was wrong. It felt like another disaster day, and for that reason she had been staying away from mirrors and reflective surfaces for the last twelve hours or so, but the sensation of impending doom hadn’t left her nerves throughout.

It was possible, of course, that Lily’s own mind was to blame for the trouble. She had been running Salem’s plan for Massachusetts through her aching head for days on end, which was putting her nerves on a knife-edge, though she hadn’t gone so far as to mention the idea of Gifter to Novel again. The illusionist was on his own red alert, skittish as a cat as he walked every hall and every floorboard of the Imaginique, as if he was patrolling a great castle that might be stormed at any moment. Lily easily surmised that he was feeling the same trepidation as her and, as she watched the street outside with tense interest, she wondered if he might have been up on the roof at that moment, doing the very same thing.

If Novel was on the Imaginique’s roof, then he too would have noticed the cloaked figure that stepped out of nowhere.

Lily recognised the square shape as the portal of a windowmaker. The air within the invisible frame glistened for a moment or two, catching bright strands of the yellow light in which the street was bathed. Tendrils of spun gold hung next to the tall, looming form that had appeared, until they slowly faded back to nothingness. Then there was only the cloaked thing, which took a few moments to brush down its shoulders with black-gloved hands. It turned to face the theatre after that, and slowly reached up to the cowl that concealed its face, pulling away the thick hood to look out into the night.

“Pascal’s here,” Novel called.

By the time Lily turned her head, the illusionist had already shot by the sitting room door, heading for the foyer entrance. But when Lily glanced back to the cloaked man in the evening air, Pascal was looking straight at her through the window. His silver hair shone bright as the moon itself on that clear spring night, and his golden eye was beaming more intensely than the bulb of any streetlamp. He was still standing there when Novel’s faint voice called to him outside the building, and Pascal inclined his head toward Lily before he let his gaze be stolen away.

Lily joined the men in the kitchen, and situated herself beside Novel at one end of the long dark table. Pascal didn’t seem to feel a lick of the tension that was making the very air of the room thicker by the moment, the senior shade simply let his cloak fly from his shoulders and hang itself on the back of the door. It sat there like the gown of an executioner, and Lily and Novel had faces pale as the grave when the patriarch gave them his mischievous grin.

“I know you’ve been trying to get hold of me for a while,” Pascal began, his voice laced with pride, “you’ll forgive me, but I wanted to be sure I could help you before I let you find me.”

“You don’t even know what help we want,” Lily challenged.

Pascal raised a finger, waggling it like a know-it-all teacher in her direction.

“You’re cursed by a djinn, and it’s getting worse by the hour,” he retorted, “I know
exactly
what you want.”

Pascal winked his one good eye, and raised a hand into the air with a sudden rush of power. His cloak fluttered at the door, then a small, shining object came flying from deep within its folds. The device settled itself on the tips of Pascal’s long fingers and, when the patriarch held it out for Lily and Novel to see, he licked his lips gleefully. It seemed to Lily that the molten gold in one of his sockets was swirling in her direction, even as his other, crystal blue iris turned to focus on his prized object.

“Go on,” Pascal teased, “take a guess at what it is. I’d wager even you’ve never seen one, Lemarick.”

Novel leaned forward in silent perusal, and Lily followed suit. The device was square and silver, and it looked something like an antique camera. There was a viewfinder on the topmost edge and what looked like a circular lens protruding from the middle of one side, with various dials and buttons set into the remaining spaces. When Pascal let the cube rotate in his palm with a little gravity magic, Lily saw the inside of the lens shimmer with the glitter of a kaleidoscope of mirrors.

“Is it something to look through?” Lily asked.

It was clear that Pascal enjoyed her guess, and he nodded with a closed-lipped smile. Novel was silent only a moment longer, until he sighed and sat back with a surprisingly relaxed gesture of defeat.

“No, I’m sorry,” Novel stated, “you’ll have to tell us.”

Lily thought it was unusual for Novel not to know something magical. He had made it his business over the years to learn a great many things, and his insistence when he trained with Lily always reminded her how much he valued knowledge. It appeared to surprise Pascal, too, that Novel had given in so easily to the mystery of the little silver box. The senior shade laid it carefully on the kitchen table and beheld it with a triumphant grin.

“This is the Spectrograph,” Pascal explained. “It’s the only device of its kind in existence, and it’s used to track down enchanted mirrors.”

“So that means…” Lily began, eyeing the box with wonder.

“Find the mirrors and you’ll find the djinnkind,” Pascal continued with a merry nod. “I thought it might make negotiation a little easier, if they know they can’t escape you.”

“It will,” Novel said plainly, “Thank you, Uncle.”

The illusionist began to reach for the Spectrograph, but the little silver machine shot back towards its owner. Pascal caught it with a practised grace, letting his eyelids flutter down in a mocking sort of apology.

“I’m afraid it’s rather a complicated piece of kit,” Pascal began, one fingertip caressing the buttons down one side of the box. “You see, I acquired it only a few years ago and I’ve spent all this time experimenting with it, finding out how it works.”

Novel sat back again, this time he was far less relaxed.

“Let me guess. You’re the only one who can operate it?” he suggested.

“The only shade living,” Pascal admitted with a wry twinkle in his eye.

“Then what would you want in return for your help?” Lily asked.

Novel put a hand over hers at once, like he’d suddenly been shot with a bolt of lightning. Pascal, however, eyed her with interest once again.

“After that disgraceful display in Pendle, I’m sure my nephew’s told you how I feel about mirrors, and those unspeakable things that live within them,” Pascal said plainly. “I’d like to help you get rid of as many djinn mirrors as possible in your quest to lift your curse.”

“And wage a war against the World of the Wish? Absolutely not,” Novel said with a sudden blaze of fury.

Lily felt the table rattle with residual magic even before Novel was on his feet. He took her by the wrist gently, but led her with haste from the kitchen. The door slammed behind them with a gust of air, and Novel leaned close to Lily’s face as he began to whisper.

“Don’t even ask him,” he warned her, “we can’t work with him. We
can’t
let him help us.”

“You’ve shot down every chance we’ve had,” Lily retaliated hotly. “I hate to break it to you, but we’re running out of options.”

“Not him,” Novel said, shaking his head bitterly. “Never him, Lily.”

“Why not?” she challenged hoarsely.

“Because
I lied
in there,” Novel replied.

The illusionist drew in a long, slow breath, making his voice quiet again before he continued.

“I’ve seen the Spectrograph before,” Novel revealed. “I know what it is, what it does, and most importantly where it came from.”

Lily glanced at the door, listening carefully in case Pascal had risen to stand on its other side. She gently pulled Novel farther down the corridor, mouthing her next words with barely a whisper.

“Tell me.”

“The Spectrograph was part of a collection owned by Vincent and Morgaux Du Lac,” Novel explained.

“Aurélie’s parents?” Lily asked. Novel nodded, but then Lily realised what else his information really meant. “Bradley’s foster parents,” she added with a trembling tone, “the ones that were murdered for their artefacts?”

“Murdered by a tall man in dark clothes,” Novel continued grimly, “whose hair shone white in the moonlight, and who left the name of Novel at the scene of the crime.”

The kindred souls turned together to glance back at the closed door before them. Lily swallowed at a hard lump of nothingness that threatened to choke her.

“So there’s a murderer in our kitchen?” she asked.

“I wish I could say I’m surprised,” Novel replied softly, “but yes.”

“But this Spectrograph thing,” Lily added sadly, “it would have worked, wouldn’t it? The machine would have found us a djinn to negotiate with?”

The illusionist hung his head for a moment, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“It might been have been ideal,” he admitted with a sigh.

“Then here’s the plan,” Lily said. “Listen close.”

Novel looked up, and the surprise in his face almost made Lily falter in her own confidence. She held her features in a serious look, kept her voice low, and tried to quell the rumblings in her guts that told her what she was suggesting was a wild and impetuous idea.

“If we’re saying no to Pascal,” she began slowly, “then we’re saying yes to Salem. We’re going to Massachusetts to track down the djinn he knows there. We’ve got no other options left.”

The illusionist’s pale blue eyes travelled back to the door with the killer beyond it, and he gave a solemn nod.

“Very well,” he agreed, though there was still reluctance in his tone. “I’ll get rid of Pascal now, and we’ll make plans to travel when your exams are over.”

Lily’s moment of triumph collapsed a little at that. She frowned.

“That’s not until the middle of May,” she protested. “If you think I give a monkey’s about exams with everything else that’s happened this year…”

Novel put a finger gently to Lily’s lips, and kissed the place where they met.

“There are other things to attend to before then,” he explained, “for one, I’d like to extract a certain potioneer who’s been freeloading here for quite some time. I can hardly do that without politely arranging for her to join us on the aeroplane. And I shall have to arrange care of the theatre whilst we’re away.”

“The show must go on,” Lily said with an eyeroll.

She stood in the corridor for a moment as Novel manoeuvred around her, then retreated to the sitting room again to listen out for any altercations in the kitchen. There was a vague mumble of low, stern voices from within the room, but when the door opened again, the footsteps exiting the Imaginique seemed soft and civil. Lily wondered if perhaps it was too good to be true that Pascal would leave without a deal being struck, but sure enough, she saw the cloaked figure breeze out into Old Mill Lane moments later.

Pascal was alone, and he turned in the street, as he had before, to glance at Lily through the windowpane. He didn’t look defeated in the least, and he raised a finger in the air whilst a smile crept onto his face. Lily saw that glowing, golden eye of his gleaming at her, and as Pascal began to move his finger in the style of a pen, the eye shone bright with light. On the glass of the sitting room window, inches from Lily’s face, golden writing appeared for the briefest of moments, shining like a wayward strand of sun that had broken through the clouds.

Think about it.

The words were only there for a moment, but Lily saw them, and she would remember them.