A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(42)

Magnus pointed his stave toward the ceiling. “To Henrietta Howel!” The boys cheered, all except Blackwood. Fenswick spooned some powder into my glass of water. Drinking it down, I discovered I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Everyone’s faces blurred. Sighing, I relaxed into my pillow and watched the candle flame burning beside me. It grew smaller and flickered feebly. In my drugged state, I imagined that the darkness itself cupped a hand around the light. I giggled at the absurdity of that idea and slept.

—

ROOK BRUSHED A STRAND OF HAIR from my face. “Nettie?” he whispered. He was robed in blackness. It hung from his shoulders and moved along his skin like folds of drapery.

“You were safe,” I sighed, reaching up to touch him. He grabbed my fingers, kissed them. The ease with which he did it thrilled me.



“Better than that. I’m free now. Can you see it?”

The shadows buoyed me up, and I floated on a dark, depthless sea. Rook hung suspended above me, his solid black eyes gleaming. We were two small objects spinning in a void. Exhausted, I fell back onto my bed.

“Rest now,” Rook whispered. “But come to me tomorrow. You will come, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I said, rolling over and gazing at the last dying spark of the candle. The rich, velvet darkness extinguished it, and the dream vanished with the light.

—

HARGROVE SAT ON THE EDGE OF my vanity table, still wearing that ridiculous red-and-purple-and-orange coat. “So,” he said. “You’re a little fireball. I should have known.” He took a bite out of the crisp red apple he held in his hand. “You really should come and see me. It’s about to get much harder for you.” He picked up a glass bottle of scent, sprayed some, and made a face.

“Go away and let me sleep,” I grumbled, sitting up in bed. My room filled with that dream mist again. Everything appeared cloudy, except the magician. He slid down and stood by my bedpost, eating the apple to the core.

“Stupid thing, you can’t even imagine what you’re in for. Come to me tomorrow, and I’ll help you. It’ll be your reward for trying to save little Charley.” His smug expression vanished. He sighed. “Yes. It was my own fault. I never remember to count heads.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You must come. The information I have is delicate. You’ll want it.”



“Go away and let me sleep, Jenkins Hargrove,” I grumbled, fluffing my pillow.

“All right. Here.” He threw the apple core at me, and I leaned up to catch it.

—

AN INSTANT LATER, I WOKE. THE room was empty, both of mist and of magicians. I sat up with a groan.

I didn’t scream when I discovered the apple core in my hand. But I certainly wanted to.





I shouldn’t be here, I thought as I returned to Jenkins Hargrove’s home the next day. Part of me wanted to turn around, to ignore the magician’s visitation the night before. But this was twice now he had come to me in a dream, twice he had spoken to me. And that trick with the apple—how had he done it?

He’d said he had delicate information. Fine. I would listen, and then I would tell him never to come to me again.

I’d been given the morning off to rest, and it had taken a great deal of work to be allowed outside to walk about the neighborhood, to take in the air. They would miss me before too long. I knew I must hurry.

Rounding the corner, I looked about for the poor Unclean man. I’d brought a coin and a piece of bread to give to him, but he was no longer at the wall. Perhaps he’d moved on. Perhaps something had happened. What a horrible thought. I prayed someone had taken pity on him.

Steeling myself, I swept up the wooden stairs and knocked at the magician’s door. A chorus of small voices told me to enter. As before, Hargrove burst through the curtains, bent over in his old-man act.



“Come in, dear lady, and ’ave a look upon your future. We are but ’umble— Oh, it’s you.” He popped and cracked his bones back into place. “You might inform me when you’re planning on a visit. It takes me a minute to get my spine all out of order for that entrance.” He sat at the table, fluffing his coat.

I spotted Charley’s little brother and sister, their faces swollen from crying. “I’d like to speak to you privately.”

“Shall I send the children to the parlor or the library?” he drawled, looking about the cramped single room. Noting my lack of amusement, he clapped his hands and said, “Take what totems you’ve finished and go out onto the street. Go, hawk the wares.” They gathered their pieces and trundled outside. Once they’d gone, Hargrove beckoned me to join him. “How may I serve you? A tarot read? A fortune told? Would you like me to fix your overlarge front teeth?”

He said nothing about the apple. I thought of three different ways to start the conversation. None of them came out of my mouth.

“Well?” Hargrove said.

“I…I’m here to see if there’s anything I can do for the children,” I said lamely. My lie was part cowardice, part hope. Perhaps there was a logical explanation for the apple. Perhaps my vision of him really had been a dream, like my dream of Rook. Nightmares brought on by too much stress.



He leaned back in his chair. “More charity?”