The Mesmerist(27)

A shadow appears at the edge of the scene. Mother looks up from the fire, wary, as if she has taken note. I see something. A shadow is moving, slithering along the floor. Mother stands up. Her eyes widen. The picture is shrinking in on itself, growing smaller, a circle closing in until I can see nothing.

And then I hear a voice.

“Beyond the grave I come.”

Mother screams.

“No!” I shout, opening my eyes and breaking the circle. “Mother!”

Emily takes my hand again and squeezes it.

“I saw her,” I tell them. “Mother. At home. And I heard a voice.”

“A voice?” Balthazar asks.

I swallow, for I don’t want to repeat the words, but they come out anyway. “‘B-beyond—’?” I stutter. “‘Beyond the grave I come.’?”

The room goes still. Balthazar’s face is tense. Gabriel blanches.

“Jess,” Balthazar says, leaning in and lowering his voice. “I want you to try again. I know it is difficult, but think on the word ‘Mephisto.’ Think on this word, and tell us what you see.”

I breathe out, exhausted. I feel as if I can go no further. Beyond the grave I come. They are terrible words, and I want them out of my head, but it is too late. I have opened myself up to this. Oh, Mother!

Balthazar places his hand over mine. “We have to, Jess. We must find and stop them before they grow stronger.”

I sniffle, nod once, and look back at the board. I take another calming breath. Emily squeezes my hand tighter. “You can do it, Jess,” she says. “Your mum would want you to.”

I look at her and smile weakly. “You’re right, Em,” I say, and extend my other hand to join Gabriel’s once more. I look back to the board, now as clear and cool as a gray winter’s day. I don’t have much to go on, so I recall the words that started this journey: Ring around the rosy. I repeat this mantra inside my head for several minutes until I feel as if it will drive me mad. The curls at the back of my neck bristle. The room suddenly feels colder.

I break our circle again and reach for the planchette. “I can feel something,” I say, and it is true—?thoughts and whispering words in the back of my mind, trying to break through.

Balthazar quickly rises and returns with parchment and ink. “Go ahead, Jessamine,” he says. “Let the spirit board guide you.”

I place the planchette in the center of the board and lay my fingers upon it. For a moment nothing happens, but then the mist clears and I see letters and symbols again. It is remarkable. My hands zigzag quickly, as they did the first time, when I found the words Balthazar was thinking. A sense of dread settles over me as the planchette moves left, right, up and down. I feel a frightful rush of cold air—?the dark and dampness of something under the earth. There is a smell, too—?a sharp, putrid odor from which I want to escape.

Two pinpoints of red blaze in my mind’s eye.

I gasp, drawing my hands away from the planchette.

“What is it?” Emily asks.

“It was cold and damp,” I quietly answer. “I felt something dark. Something evil.”

Balthazar peers at the parchment in front of him. He cocks his head and then turns it around so I can see what is written. “Chislehurst . . . Caves?” I whisper.

“Yes,” he replies. “Curious. Most curious. There are caves under London, Jessamine. Chislehurst is one such place.”

“Caves?” Emily asks in astonishment. “In London? With bogeys?”

“Outside of London, Emily,” Balthazar replies. “They are old mines, now long out of use.”

“Some believe they were built by the druids,” Gabriel says, “thousand of years ago.”

There is a pause.

“What else did you feel?” Balthazar asks. “You came out of the trance quickly, as if you saw something that unsettled you.”

His gaze is intense. For I will always be watching.

“I saw two pinpoints of red in a field of black. That’s all it was, but I felt a terrible sense of unease.”

He nods, taking in my words.

“We must go to these caves,” Gabriel suggests, looking at me. “We must seek Mephisto out.”

“This is our first true lead,” Balthazar agrees. “And after Cora’s death, we cannot take anything lightly.”

Just hearing him speak of Mother makes me want to weep.

Balthazar looks at me, then at Emily and Gabriel. He stands up and seems to grow even taller in the dark room. “Jess, you’ll need your weapons.”



I pull the case from the leather satchel. The instruments lie in their bed of red velvet, waiting for their power to be unleashed. I draw out the lash. The handle is braided leather. The five trailing thongs feel weighted at the bottom, as if filled with stone or some other deadly embellishment. I saw what it did to the dressmaker’s form. But what would it do to a monster? I grip the handle and, releasing a breath, lash out, just as Mother did.

A deafening crack rings through the room. I set the lash down and pick up the compass. Now I can see how beautiful it really is. A fine filigree pattern runs along the two legs, which taper into points so sharp, I dare not touch them. I set it back down. Mother’s words come back to me:

To most people, these are just simple objects, but to those with supernatural abilities, they are deadly weapons.