David Liss - The Twelfth Enchantment - A Novel

“You have seen these beings,” said Mary. “They are drawn to you and you to them. They speak to you, and I believe it is because you are already connected with them. I don’t know how, but I suspect they sense that you will be there to stand against the very worst of them.”

Mary could not speak with any certainty or authority about the peril that brewed around them, but she believed in her soul it was real. “For now, you must continue with your studies. You must learn as much as you can, and be ready for what dangers may come.”

Lucy did not much like the sound of that. She did not like vague threats and uncertain menaces, but Mary seemed disinclined to say more. “I don’t know how I shall continue to study if I have nowhere to live. My uncle has threatened to cast me out if I do not marry Mr. Olson, and after what passed at the assembly, I believe he may now finally withdraw his offer.”

“Hush, my dear,” she said. “We will manage it. Your uncle may be affected by your influence. You know that now. You have taken the first steps down a path that will burden you with many responsibilities, but there are privileges now too. You need be at no man’s mercy. You can be mistress of your own life, and want neither for money nor shelter nor protection. These things will all be yours in time, and with application.”

Lucy did not quite know if she should believe that these prospects could be realized, but Mary telling her that they could made her feel better, made her feel protected.

“Again, for now,” Mary said, “you must continue with your studies. I have chosen some books for you to read, and you will take them with you. They may be rather dry reading, but it is important that you understand the basic principles of how magic works and what it is.”

Mary rose and returned with a pile of half a dozen books, each far larger and thicker than the little volume she had presented to Lucy last time. “You must start with Agrippa’s Three Books . After Agrippa, I urge you to master Paracelsus’s Philosophia Adepta . It is the best of his writing. Then you may wish to attempt this English translation of the Sefer Raziel HaMalakh , though you must keep in mind that cabala is made to be confounding, and your utter bewilderment will be no reflection upon you, but upon the nature of the material. Knowledge comes sometimes only through the struggle to comprehend the incomprehensible. Oh, and this is interesting—a curious take on Mesmer’s animal magnetism that should work nicely with your natural charms. And do look at this translation of Abra-Melin . I sense you have a particular talent for talismans, and his squares may amuse you.”

Staring at the books, Lucy felt overwhelmed and frightened. “When may I see you again? I am sure I must have questions.”

“I shall do my best to send for you more frequently than I have, but you must not come here if I do not call for you. I do not wish to sound arbitrary, but there are matters I will explain later that I cannot discuss now. I must have your word on this, that you will not call upon me.”

“Of course,” said Lucy, who could not but feel hurt at this.

“Have no fear. I shall make sure you have all you need. And now, let us see about keeping you safe in your uncle’s house.”

It was easier than she could have supposed. A talisman found in the first book Mary had given Lucy resolved the issue: To make others comply with your wishes . Lucy copied it out with great care, feeling the supple lines come alive as she drew them, feeling the strokes of the pen meld and link themselves to one another. She then allowed some sugar, melted in a spoon, to fall upon the talisman. When it hardened, she rolled up the paper and sealed it with a thread from one of Uncle Lowell’s coats. She then approached him, and slipped it into his pocket.

“Uncle,” she said, “regardless of Mr. Olson’s plans, you will not cast me out.”

“Of course not,” he said. “Quite right. It would be unseemly for you to make your way in the world when you have an uncle who can look after you.”

The next day she heard her uncle and Mrs. Quince arguing loudly, and Lucy heard her own name mentioned several times. Whatever else her uncle discussed, it was clear that he did not know why he had said what he had to Lucy earlier, and he did not know how he might take it all back.

16

A FEW DAYS LATER, LUCY AWOKE TO THE SOUND OF UNCLE LOWELL shouting quite angrily. She had been up late at night, attempting to read and understand Agrippa, which was challenging indeed, but the knowledge that it was real , that she had real power of the secrets of the universe, provided a compelling motivation. Sometimes her concentration would slip not because of this difficulty of the material, but because she would think about her father. She recalled sitting and reading with him in his library, and after hours upon hours of struggling, she would lose herself in understanding, only to emerge from her trance and see her father, across the room, looking at her over his little spectacles. How his face had glowed with pleasure, and how her heart had been heavy with happiness to be the daughter who made him so pleased. What, she had wondered, would her father think of her studies now?

Attempting to hold on to all the theorems and speculations and arguments, she dressed hurriedly and descended the stairs to find Uncle Lowell still in full pique shouting at Mrs. Quince.

“It is more than I can endure,” he pronounced with a gravity designed to end the conversation. It did not.

“ She approves of the visit,” said Mrs. Quince. “Sir, if you think your quiet is threatened by a little disruption of your home, think what would happen should you earn her enmity.”

“What is happening?” asked Lucy, who stood at the entrance to the dining room.

“You—all of you!—have conspired against me to rob me of the one thing I love best, my quiet,” answered Uncle Lowell. “I will not have it.”

Mrs. Quince turned to Lucy, and flared her nostrils like a horse scenting the wind. “Your sister, Martha, is coming, and she is bringing her infant.”

“And her husband and no doubt a nurse and a maid and jugglers too,” said Uncle Lowell.

Lucy could not have been happier. Martha had emerged from her confinement a few months earlier, and Lucy had gone to visit her shortly after, but she had not seen her sister or the baby—called Emily—since.

A dark thought occurred to Lucy. “Lady Harriett is not coming, is she?”

“I hardly think so,” said Mrs. Quince, “after the insults you’ve offered her.”

In her exuberance, Lucy turned to her uncle. “Oh, I’m so happy. Little Emily will be near six months now. It is a charming age for a baby.”

“These infants scream and cry and they make a great deal of mess,” said Uncle Lowell. “I hope the wet nurse will tend to everything.” He had evidently reconciled himself to the visit.

“Martha nurses Emily herself,” said Lucy. “It is the new fashion.”

“How dare you speak to me of such things?” demanded Uncle Lowell.

Martha, Mr. Buckles, and little Emily were to arrive in less than a week, though the day was not set, for Lady Harriett had not yet announced when it would be convenient for her to release Mr. Buckles from his many duties as her curate. Lucy’s life was now filled with all manner of expectations—some things wonderful, and others dreadful. She would soon see her niece. She would also be forced to face Mr. Buckles for the first time since learning of Mary’s suspicions. And as for the matter with Mr. Olson, they had heard nothing, but it was known throughout the county that his prospects were ruined, and so Uncle Lowell presumed the marriage was off. Though he still openly blamed Lucy, his wrath simmered rather than raged. Lucy had been used to living upon thin ice, and she understood that she could not depend upon the calm lasting, but for the time being, she chose to enjoy it.