The Potioneer (Shadeborn Book 3) (6 page)

Vivid History

Between Jazzy’s ghost girl and the blue-faced apparition she had seen in the lecture hall ceiling, Lily felt more haunted with every minute she spent under the tutelage of Bradley Binns. In the few weeks that had passed since the start of term, Binns had covered the whole gambit of witch trials worldwide, and now that the first reading week of the year was on the horizon, Lily knew that an assignment would be in order. The inevitable question flashed up on Binns’s projector in the third week of October, where bold black print proclaimed the words:

According to the various historical sources you have explored, determine what you perceive to be humanity’s central beliefs about witchcraft, and how it should be dealt with.

Beside the essay question was an image of a young woman, and Lily started for a moment as she gazed upon the thin, almost triangular jaw of the female. Her memory flashed towards the midnight conversation she’d had after picking Jazzy up from the stairs, and the words that had tumbled from her friend’s lips in a manic jumble of recollection:

“She was small, and sort of dainty, but she could have been our age. She had big black eyes, like bloodhound’s eyes, you know? And dark hair plaited down like Wednesday Addams.”

The image of the witch that Bradley had used to illustrate his assignment was passed around on a paper handout, and when Lily took it in again, Jazzy’s description sent a shiver through her. The girl on the paper definitely had that same classic horror movie vibe that Jazzy had described, and Lily had to reason with herself quite forcefully that the picture she was looking at was probably just the first hit from Google Images that her new professor had stumbled upon. Not trusting her own likelihood to make a spectacle of herself, as she had on day one of classes, Lily stayed in her seat and let the tremble in her legs abate. The hall slowly emptied of students, eager to get to lunch, and soon Lily saw only one figure left on the periphery of her vision.

“You don’t look pleased with the assignment,” Bradley Binns mused, his voice echoing across the now-empty hall.

Lily spared the lecturer a glance. He stood with hands on hips, knuckles resting against the grey wool of his godawful tank vest. Lily opened her mouth, but could think of no suitable reply.

“I’d have thought it was right up your street,” he continued, flailing a hand emphatically, “sociology and history combined.”

Nodding slowly, Lily got to her feet and crumpled the essay paper into the front pocket of her satchel. As she descended the stairs towards the young professor, she was careful and very deliberate in keeping her eyes away from the glass panes reflecting down upon her, lest she suddenly see something in the ceiling that would add yet more worry to her day. She was ready to leave the hall swiftly, some glib comment resting on her tongue to assure the new professor that she’d give the assignment her best shot, but the curiosity in Bradley’s hazel eyes gave her pause.

“The girl in that picture,” Lily said, her hand hovering over the space where she’d stuffed the page into her bag. “Who is she?”

“An old relative of mine,” the young scholar answered. There were dimples in his cheeks as he pulled his lips back to smile, but the expression looked stiff to Lily. “She was tried as a Pendle witch, back in 1612.”

The professor’s particular interest in witches was starting to make sense. Lily let go of a genuine smile that was gathering in the corner of her mouth.

“Did they find her guilty?” she asked.

Bradley Binns nodded, strands of brown hair flopping towards his face. He leaned a little closer to Lily, looking at her from under his brows as he spoke.

“She got away. It’s not well-documented, but it’s true. The Lancaster Assizes didn’t like to admit it when their witches managed to escape.”

A brow quirked on Lily’s forehead, her interest piqued, but another voice cut across the empty hall to break the conversation.

“That’s a shame,” a snarky, male tone declared. “You see, if we’d ferreted all the witches out long ago, we wouldn’t have such a problem now.”

“Michael,” Lily droned, turning with a frown to see the cocky figure before her. “Why don’t you peddle your crazy somewhere else? The professor and I were having a discussion about real history.”

Michael Sampson strode into the room with the kind of swagger you could only be born with. It seemed to Lily that no matter how many times he’d been freaked out of his mind over what she and the others at the Theatre Imaginique could do, Michael always found a way to bounce back. Now, he shook his head at Lily, and gave her an up-and-down look that he might not have dared to try if they had been alone in the lecture hall together.

“Sorry to spoil your fun,” Michael said, with a look that suggested anything but apology, “I just came to drop off a delivery for Mr Binns here.”

From the pocket of his jeans, Michael produced a small slip of paper that horrified and amused Lily all at once. It was a gilded, hand-written ticket to the October show of the Theatre Imaginique, and Bradley Binns took it from the Michael’s hand with interest. His bright eyes studied the details of the show, then flickered to meet Lily’s gaze for the briefest of moments. There was something bashfully childlike in the hesitance of his glance.

“Erm, thank you,” Bradley said, turning abruptly to Michael and giving him a little nod. “I’m always keen to see the local culture. Didn’t get around to seeing this show last year.”

“Be sure to look out for Lily’s boyfriend,” Michael added with a shameless sneer. “He’s the one that looks like a corpse.”

It seemed that Bradley didn’t know whether to laugh at that or not, and he made a polite half-chuckle as he gathered his briefcase and remaining papers from his desk. Lily ignored his nervy gestures, her eyes solely focused on Michael with a flare that might have set him on fire if she’d let it. Even through his cocky facade, Michael seemed to sense that an outburst was on its way, and he was already backing out of the lecture hall by the heels of his sneakers as he added:

“I know I’ll be front-row-centre this time.”

By the time Lily stormed towards the outer corridor, the little git had run away.

Stage Fright

Standing next to Baptiste Du Nord didn’t exactly inspire Lily to smile, but she kept her lips fixed in the most welcoming expression she could manage. Baptiste was charming as ever with the patrons when they entered the grand foyer of the Imaginique for that night’s performance, but now that Lily sensed what truly lay beneath his elegant exterior, every word the bloodshade spoke seemed to ooze with hidden meanings. Lily had offered to play the role of usherette for the evening, and every time Baptiste took a golden ticket from a customer with his long-nailed hands, it became Lily’s job to direct them through the massive double doors, suggesting where best they ought to sit.

“Aha,” Baptiste proclaimed, his tone dripping with interest, “it seems we have a new face. Welcome, Monsieur. Might I know the pleasure of your name?”

Lily turned, hiding a grimace, just as the slightly stuttering voice of the newbie replied.

“Oh, well… It’s er… It’s Bradley, actually.”

And Lily might have welcomed the young professor herself, had she not been so struck by the bright flush of pink that had raced to his cheeks. He was looking up at Baptiste in all his finery, as if the elegant MC were the only figure in the crowded foyer, and Bradley’s shy little grin was only exacerbated by the way his hands fumbled over the golden ticket as he tried to hand it over. It struck Lily that this was exactly how Jazzy had behaved the first time she’d ever met Baptiste, when she’d remarked on his gorgeous dark looks and sparkling eyes. The MC’s eyes were certainly sparkling as he gently plucked the ticket from Bradley’s nervous grip.

“Bradley,” Baptiste said, as if he was tasting the word. His faded French accent rolled the ‘r’ a little too much, and the MC gave a grin. “Forgive me, Monsieur. Your name’s a little difficult to get my tongue around.”

The professor gave that nervous half-chuckle, like he had when Michael had made his cutting joke about Novel, but this time he was all smiles as he nodded his thanks to Baptiste. Lily watched him step her way, his head half-turned back to the striking figure, who had already set the charm offensive on the next victim in line. When Bradley’s gaze finally did find Lily’s, his eyes widened momentarily, then the pink flush returned to his cheeks. One hand instinctively shot to rub at the back of his neck, and Lily had a moment to register that he was wearing another stellar piece of ugly knitwear before he began to speak.

“My goodness,” Bradley uttered, “what a place this is, Lily. Beautiful. Just, beautiful.”

“Nice to see you,” Lily offered, choosing to tactfully ignore his love-struck smile. “I wouldn’t recommend sitting in the front row, since it’s your first time here.”

“Oh,” the professor answered, some semblance of normality returning to his features. His eyes flickered to the left just slightly, as if he might have given a forlorn glance back over his shoulder at the thought of not being close to the stage. “Right-o. I’ll take your word for it.”

Baptiste was always at his most attractive when he played his role as MC, and even the arrival of Michael Sampson did not deter the bloodshade from his charm onslaught. Michael swaggered to the much taller gent and handed him his ticket, sweeping past even as Baptiste welcomed him, so that he was standing right in front of Lily before the MC’s words had even ended.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving a hand vaguely. “I know the drill. I know what I’m here for.”

Michael’s eyes held Lily’s for a long moment, their gaze as bitter as each other’s. Lily felt Michael’s cocky hatred with such strength that it seemed to leave a foul taste in her mouth when he finally made his way into the theatre, striding to a seat smack-bang in the middle of the front row. Everything was just as he’d promised it would be, and Lily couldn’t help the wild tremor of suspense that flooded her every nerve as she watched him sitting there so expectantly.

“Trouble tonight,” Baptiste said behind her, his tone low and void of pleasantries. “It’s in the air already.”

Lily and Baptiste rarely agreed on anything anymore, but she nodded slowly as her eyes roved up to the dark recesses of the Imaginique’s stage, where the great blood-red curtains were ready to rise.

*

The transition from usherette to stagehand was a welcome one, and Lily felt a lot more relaxed when she stood beside Novel in the dark wings of the theatre, a short while later. The first few acts of the night had gone as well as they usually did, with Zita Bosko performing unbelievable feats of twisted contortionism, and the Sewards throwing tomahawks at a mock-screaming Dharma as she spun on a revolving disc, skirts flying everywhere. The Slovak Twins were currently part-way through the Bladeplay act that they often started the performing season with, and Novel would be next on the bill.

It had been weeks since Lily had last seen him made up for the stage, and her first glance at his powdered face and painted black lips sent her reeling back to the wasted visage in her dreams. After she’d shaken herself from that moment, she handed Novel his jacket, holding it up at the shoulders so that he might shift into its long sleeves. She knew he had sensed her moment of fear by the way he turned, eyes sharp as they travelled all over her face, like he was doing an inventory of her emotions. She reached for him in a way that she hadn’t for quite some time, her palms resting on the velvet sleeves of his suit.

“It’s nearly the end of the month, you know,” she said in as kind a tone as she could manage. “Have you solved the mysterious problem on your own yet?”

Novel had been tense the whole night, carrying with him the same strange trepidation that Lily and Baptiste had felt in the foyer. He cast his pale eyes up into the high rafters of the theatre for a moment, dark lips twitching in a barely-perceivable grimace, then his focus was back on her face.

“I have a feeling I’ll find out tonight,” he replied.

The answer was so grave, his voice fuelled by such terrible uncertainty, that Lily forgot her irritation and brushed a swift kiss to his lips. The sudden embrace shocked Novel enough that Lily felt the zap of a tiny lightning bolt on her cheek, but she let the kiss linger through the sting. It took several hesitant seconds before Novel’s hands came to rest on Lily’s back, but even as they did, the audience beyond the wings were starting to applaud wildly. Sure enough, the smooth and elegant voice of Baptiste Du Nord soon graced the echoing recesses of the grand Victorian building.

Killing the mood at every turn,
Lily thought as Novel let her go.

“Your raucous applause, please, for Monsieur Novel!”

His intro came, and Novel waited, as he always did, for the applause to die out before he graced the stage. Baptiste had exited to the other wing, which left Lily alone as she watched the odd Monsieur begin his latest display. It was not the fire-building dance that she had seen him rehearsing earlier in the month, but an acrobatic display of lightning and flames, that patrons would, later, undoubtedly believe was all down to wires and an impressive array of laser projections. For her part, Lily stood in the darkness and revelled in every inch of magic that burst from the illusionist, her breath caught in wonder. She held the faint hope that she herself could have such power and control someday.

It was then that Lily marvelled that the man the audience gaped at was
her
man. Novel was a man who loved her, in his own way, and one who had tried his hardest to protect her, even when she fought against him. The remarkable magician, who was bowing even at that moment to a sea of stupefied faces, was her Kindred Soul, and Lily fancied that she was being foolish, letting suspicion and secrets ruin what they’d found together. It was a slow-burning revelation, one that brought a smile to Lily’s face that felt truer than any she’d felt in uncountable days.

And it was whilst that smile was forming that a strange creaking noise echoed high above her. Lily barely registered the sound as it resonated within the audience’s applause. What she did see, however, was the way Novel’s pale ear gave a twitch, his eyes rushing to the very same place in the rafters that he’d spotted whilst she’d been standing there in the wings with him. A half-second passed, perhaps less, before the great crashing noise came down overhead, and Novel took flight with the barest flick of his heels before Lily could even look up in surprise.

The impact hit Lily with the same force as the illusionist’s magic had on the roof, knocking all the wind of out her lungs as Novel smashed into her stomach. His hands were clamped to her hips as he bulleted them both farther back into the theatre’s recesses, almost to the place where the dressing room corridors branched off on the far left-hand wall. It was like a car screeching on its brakes, the way they came to a sudden stop just shy of colliding with the damningly solid wall, but Lily had little time to notice that near miss of injury. She was far too focused on the
other
near miss: the one Novel had just saved her from.

The creak and the crash had been made by a stage light the size of an armchair. The huge contraption had fallen into the exact space where Lily had been standing, seconds before, and now it had burst straight through the floorboards and wedged itself deep in the ground there. Lily clung to Novel’s shoulder, their hearts pounding with the same terrified rhythm. They both stared at the spot where she would have been crushed to death, if not for the pricking of the illusionist’s keen ears. Lily swallowed with the driest throat of her life, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the collapsed light as she tried to make her trembling lips form the words she wanted to say.

You knew,
she thought, feeling Novel’s tight grip that now bruised her hips with its ferocity.
You looked up there before. You knew. You knew.

It would have taken her far too long to get the thoughts straight in her shock, but Novel spared her the trouble as he pulled her close. His lips brushed her ear with heavy, stunted breaths, and he whispered fearfully when he answered her unspoken thoughts.

“I’ll tell you what’s happening,” he promised. “I’ll tell you tonight.”