The Mesmerist(33)

Gabriel almost laughs.

I take Emily’s hand in mine. “I am not sure what will happen,” I tell her. “Balthazar says it usually takes more than a scratch to become infected.”

Darby enters the room with clean linens in her hands. She freezes in the doorway. “I’m sorry, miss,” she starts. “I’ll come ba—”

“No,” I tell her. “It’s all right. Come in, Darby.”

Darby glances at Gabriel and Emily and takes a few steps into the room. “I’m so sorry, miss,” she says contritely. “Sir told me what happened. I really didn’t mean to. It just comes over me, and I can’t help meself!”

She sniffles, and tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “Now I’m going to spoil the linen”—?she blurts out—?“with these tears!”

“It’s all right, Darby,” I tell her. “I know you meant me no harm.”

Emily rises off the bed and approaches Darby. She takes the linens, lays them at the foot of the bed, then wraps her small arms around Darby’s waist. I can see Emily’s heat pulsing within her, spreading warmth. Darby’s mouth opens in surprise. Her arms stand out at her sides, as if she is unsure what to do with them. Finally she relaxes and returns the hug.

“It’ll be aright, wolf girl,” Emily says, breaking their embrace. “Jess won’t come into your room at night and whip you with her lash. She’s nice.”

Gabriel shakes his head but cannot hide the small grin that forms on his face.

Darby’s face is flushed with heat. She looks to me. “Does it hurt, miss?”

“No,” I say. “A fearsome itch, though.”

I want to put her at ease, this poor girl with this terrible affliction. I remember the mad look in her eyes when she was her wolf self: the snapping teeth, the nails as sharp as razors.

Darby smiles awkwardly and bends to pick up the linens. “Better be off, then,” she says. “Oh.” She puts the linens back on the bed. “These are yours, miss. That’s why I came in.”

“Call me Jess, Darby,” I tell her.

Darby takes a breath and smoothes her dress with her hands. She looks at Gabriel and Emily and then back to me. “Okay, miss,” she says, and turns to leave.

I can only shake my head.

Once the door is closed, Emily hops back onto the bed. “So,” she says. “Let me see your fangs.”



I spend most of the day resting, being attended to by Balthazar and the others. Darby brings tea and biscuits, and I find that I am ravenous. Is this a symptom? Will I start craving human flesh?

The frivolity of Emily and Gabriel’s earlier visit seems to have disappeared. It was a distraction from the reality of what has truly happened. I was scratched, and Balthazar says he is not sure of my fate. Is this the calm before the storm? Will I awake on the full moon with hair and nails and teeth . . . ?

In the late afternoon, the door creaks open and Balthazar peeks his head around the corner. It’s odd to see him do this, for he is so often very serious.

“Come in,” I call.

He strides into the room like a giant cricket and looks as if he will be dining at a fine restaurant. He is wearing creamy yellow buckskin breeches and a claw-hammer coat that clings to his slender frame. He stands next to me and lays a cool hand on my forehead. “Do you feel feverish?”

“No. Just exhausted, as if I will never regain my strength.”

“You have been through much these past few days.”

He sits in the small chair, which makes him look absolutely absurd. For a moment, there is nothing but silence, with just the two of us staring at each other. “I am sorry for what has happened, Jess,” he finally says. “It is no fault of Darby’s, but my own. When she transforms, she is in an entirely different state, torn between the human world and the one that calls to her at night.”

“What was that potion?” I ask. “The one you made her drink.”

“Wolfsbane,” he replies, “also known as Aconitum lycoctonum. But it contains herbs and plants from my land as well, something that cannot be found here. I had several doses, but without realizing it, my supply had dwindled. I think your arrival and news of your mother’s passing befuddled my mind.”

He runs his fingers through his hair.

“Where is your land?” I ask tentatively, sitting up. “When we were returning from Mother’s funeral, you said you would tell me more.”

Balthazar gazes at me, and his sea-gray eyes flicker. “Some call it the Pleasant Plain,” he murmurs. “Others, The Land. But names cannot truly describe its beauty.”

“Tell me,” I implore. “What does it look like?”

He remains still for a long minute, then—?“Look for yourself, child.”

At first I don’t understand, but then it dawns on me: he wants me to look into his mind.

He closes his eyes. I watch his chest rise and fall, as if he is suddenly fast asleep. I stare at his face—?the thin, prominent nose; the high, angled cheekbones. Silken black hair falls like rippling water about his shoulders. I close my eyes and feel the bed beneath me disappear, as if I am floating. The familiar tingle tickles my forehead. I open my eyes. A coil of white, starry mist trails from Balthazar’s head to mine. I close my eyes again, and then the images come.