The Mesmerist(18)

The room darkens but for the faint light that seeps through the curtains. Balthazar lights a candelabra with a match. Emily and Gabriel stand on either side of him. Everyone looks somber. “What is happening?” I ask.

But no one answers.

Balthazar walks to the corner of the room and picks up a long, wooden staff. A gleaming metal point shines at its tip. I hadn’t even noticed it before—?or perhaps I had mistaken it for a broom, which, judging from the dust on the floor, this room could certainly use. He walks back over and stands between Emily and Gabriel. They are all facing me, as if I am about to be questioned. What is this about?

Balthazar takes a step forward, so he is only a foot away. I feel sweat on my back. It is unseemly for a lady to sweat, I hear Mother’s voice remind me.

“We are known as the League of Ravens,” he announces, “named for Bran the Blessed, once king of Britain and protector of the realm.”

My ears prick up. Although I did not finish my schooling, I certainly learned all of the British kings. Yet the name is unfamiliar. “Bran the Blessed? I have never heard of such a man.”

“It is from the old Welsh tales,” Balthazar replies, “the Mabinogion, in particular, which is now lost in history. Bran means ‘raven’ in the old tongue, and it is from him that we draw our strength.”

I nod, enthralled.

“Since our order was formed, we have all sworn an oath to uphold its secrets. Now this duty falls upon you, Miss Jessamine.”

He takes a step closer. A scent of deep woods and fallen leaves surrounds him, something I hadn’t noticed before.

“Jessamine Grace. Do you come here of your own free will, being of sound mind?”

I take a breath. “I do.”

“And do you swear to use your gift for the good of mankind and strike down evil at any cost, even at risk to your own life?”

My legs quake.

“I do.”

“Furthermore, will you hold the practices of this order in confidence and not betray its members, secrets, or powers to any dark force that may exist in this world?”

“I will,” I say.

Balthazar raises the spear to my throat so quickly, I gasp. “Swear to me now, child.” His face is stern, and his eyes gleam with a fierce light.

“I swear,” I finish.

Balthazar drops the staff to his side. “Jessamine Grace, daughter of Alexander and Cora, welcome to the League of Ravens.” He raises one hand in front of my face and makes an intricate motion in the air.

A shock runs through my body.

I see a silver ship with a billowing sail, rocking gently on the sea . . .

A white raven pecking at a ravished corpse on a hillside.

Creatures with ghoulish faces burned by fire.

And a giant of a man, swinging a shining sword above his head.

As quickly as it comes, the vision is over. I shake my head, disoriented.

“They are glimpses of our past,” Balthazar explains. “Something you will now carry forever. In times of great peril, you will never be alone.”

He steps back two paces. “All hail!” he proclaims, and bangs the staff to the floor three times, sending a shudder down my spine.

The serious faces from a moment ago are now all smiles. Balthazar reaches out and takes my hand. “Welcome to the order, Jess.”

Jess. It is the first time he has used my pet name.

“Thank you,” I say, surprised, still reeling from the vision. “I’m honored.”

“I am glad you are with us,” Gabriel says. His words are a comfort, but his eyes are dark. He looks weary beyond his years. Will this happen to me, also?

Emily grasps my hand. Her touch is so light, I almost don’t feel it. “We’re best mates now. Yeah?”

I smile, and feel a tickle at my throat. I touch it, and when I draw my hand away, a smear of blood darkens my fingertip.

Emily looks at me and shrugs. “Just a scratch,” she says.





CHAPTER NINE





Power Revealed


I am now a member of the League of Ravens.

I swore to it. Upon penalty of death.

I feel a bond with Mother and Father that I have never known before. They went through this same initiation. How I wish to ask Mother what she felt at the time. What did she think? Was she frightened? What adventures did she and Father share?

I will write to her soon, I promise myself, for there is so much more I want to know.



Over the next several days, Balthazar teaches me how to use the lash. We are in the back garden, where a broken-down carriage sits. One of its wheels is cracked, and the spokes are either bent or missing. Brambles and vines run wild back here, looking as if they might rise up and strangle the entire house. The air is cool, but with my cloak and gloves, I am warm and flushed. Emily has lent me a few things to wear, but they are rather small and uncomfortable.

“Grip the handle lightly,” Balthazar says for the second time. “Raise your arm above your head. Now strike!”

I lash out at the dressmaker’s form that he has furnished for practice. I walk a few steps and peer at the damage. The spiked ends of the whip have torn the roughspun cloth, shredding it in places. I can’t imagine what it would do to a real body. And then it hits me: that is why I am doing this. The enemy we fight is real. This lash is meant to kill. Before I have a chance to obsess on this further, Balthazar congratulates me.