The Mesmerist(35)

“How long will you be gone?” I ask.

“Hopefully only a short while. Two days at most.”

“Blimey,” Emily mutters.

He stands back up. “Be careful, and always be on your guard. And, again, do not attempt to reach Mephisto without me.”

And with that final warning, he turns and walks back inside the house.



I sit in my room, staring at my hands. How could Balthazar just venture off in the midst of our mission?

After Mother died, he said we would avenge her. How can we do that when he is not here to guide us? We’ve done nothing since the attack in the cave.

I glance at my satchel. Those are Father’s weapons in there. “Within you lies strength yet to be discovered,” Mother told me. “Like your father . . . and your mother.”

And it is then that I know what I must do.



I draw out the spirit board, and we gather around the table.

“Jessamine,” Gabriel says hesitantly, “what are you planning to do with that?” His tone sounds almost fearful.

“I am not sure,” I answer. “But we need to find out more about Mephisto and this ‘rosy’ business. Balthazar isn’t giving us any answers, right?”

They look at each other warily.

“He said to not try anything while he’s away,” Emily reminds me.

“He’s got his own way of doing things,” Gabriel says. “He always takes his time.”

“He’s a faerie,” Emily says, as if this is a completely natural explanation. “They take a long time to do anything. One time it took him a bloody hour just to answer a question.”

I shake my head. “We need answers. The boy in the alley and the ghoul recited the same rhyme. We have to find out more.” I take a calming breath and look at both of them. “I don’t know what will happen, but I need you here in case something unfortunate occurs. Now, are you with me?”

Emily chews her lip. Gabriel fiddles with his hands. Finally they look at each other and nod at the same time.

I find parchment, quill, and ink and place them on the table. “Write down the words that the planchette spells out, Emily.”

“Don’t know me letters, Jess.”

She says this without the slightest hint of embarrassment. It is I who feel like a beast. I should have known. “Oh—” I start. “I’m sorry. Well, perhaps I can teach you one day.”

“Would you, Jess?” Her voice is eager.

“Yes,” I tell her.

Gabriel takes the quill in his hand and dips it into the inkwell.

“We need candles,” I say, rising, but Emily’s small hand stops me short.

“No. I can do that.”

I sit back down.

Emily closes her eyes. She breathes out through her nose several times. Little sparks of light flicker around her face and then spread outward, illuminating the table. I can see the spirit board clearly now. She sits back and smiles.

“All right, then,” I say, letting out a breath.

I suddenly realize that I have not used the spirit board in quite this manner before. I have never asked it a direct question. Does it even work that way?

I place my fingers on the planchette. “‘Ring around the rosy,’” I begin. “‘A pocketful of posies.’ What is the meaning of these words?”

My fingers immediately tingle. The back of my neck goes cold, as if I have stepped out into a winter’s day without a scarf. A chill rises in the room. Emily hugs her arms to her chest. Gabriel looks on with a determined gaze. I close my eyes. At first there is only a black curtain, but slowly, like white stars filling a night sky, I see it—?a face, as white as alabaster, with raven-black hair falling to either side. The eyes are two red embers. I hold the image in my mind, although it is unsettling. The planchette scrapes across the board—?to the left, now right, now down. I swallow and feel sweat on my brow. The face disappears, to be replaced by a tunnel—?a long passage filled with white fog. I hear screeching, a terrible grinding sound that sets my nerves on edge.

My hands suddenly stop moving. I take a breath and open my eyes. Emily’s light is a warm yellow and spills across the table. I look to Gabriel, whose face is troubled. We do not speak, but he turns the parchment so I can read what is written.

But before I can take in the words—?

“Come to me, darkling,” a disembodied voice calls out. “Come to me and save your city.”

My heart thuds in my chest.

Emily’s light goes out.

“Who are you?” I demand, my eyes flitting about the room. “Show yourself!”

A dreadful pause, and then—?

“Soon, my lovely. Very soon.”

The table begins to vibrate. I lay my hands palms down on the surface, as if somehow I can stop it. The legs begin to shake, drumming the floor beneath me. Gabriel and Emily both stand quickly. “Stop!” I shout, but to whom I do not know. Gabriel reaches into his coat and takes out his harp, but before he can play a calming note, the spirit board rises up and flies across the room.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





The Old Nichol


Come to me, darkling. Come to me and save your city.

The words burrow into my brain, and I cannot be rid of them. None of us speak for a long moment.