David Liss - The Twelfth Enchantment - A Novel

Suppressing her giggles, bringing herself into the right frame of mind, Lucy—having memorized the incantation—stood before the circle, a knife ready to draw across her finger. And that was when everything went mad.

The door to her room burst open, and a dark form was on her at once, knocking her down and ripping the knife out of her hand. Lucy fell backwards, snapping her head forward in time to avoid knocking it upon the floor. Instead, she slammed her forehead into that of her assailant. Lucy grunted in pain and surprise, but the person on top of her made no sound.

She was held down by a large figure, round and soft, and who smelled strangely pleasant, like a warm wool blanket on a cold winter day.

“Are you hurt, Miss Lucy? Tell me you are not hurt.”

Lucy scrambled out from under the bulky form. “Mrs. Emmett?”

Hurrying to close the door, Lucy turned to see the plump woman getting to her feet, straightening out her bonnet, which she wore in her customary low fashion so it pressed her hair flat against her forehead.

“Lord, how I had to run to make my way here in time! Did not Miss Mary teach you any better than to fool with such things as summoning? One mistake in that circle of yours, and it would seek out the most arrogant living thing in the room, for these creatures hate arrogance above all weaknesses, and they can smell it the way a dog smells a rabbit. You may be certain that if you are alone, the most arrogant person in the room is you.”

“What are you doing here?” Lucy demanded, attempting to keep her voice low. “How did you get in here? How did you know I was summoning a spirit? And where is Miss Crawford?”

“So many questions,” said Mrs. Emmett with a good-natured laugh.

Checking the clock upon one of the side tables, Lucy saw it was near three in the morning. The house, however, remained silent. Mrs. Emmett’s arrival apparently had awoken no one.

“Then let us take one question at a time,” said Lucy. “Where is Miss Crawford?”

“Oh, I am certain I don’t know that. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Nothing to do with you?” asked Lucy. “Is she not your mistress?”

“You are my mistress now.”

“What can you mean? I cannot pay you.”

Mrs. Emmett smiled. “I need no money.”

“But what will Uncle Lowell say?”

“He’ll say nothing,” said Mrs. Emmett. “I’ll not stay here. You don’t need me, Miss Lucy. Not yet. When you do, I’ll come to you. It is no hard thing.”

Lucy shook her head at the nonsense. She was too tired to understand. “When did you last see Miss Crawford?”

“To that, I cannot say. My memory isn’t good for such things.”

Lucy circled around Mrs. Emmett. If this examination disturbed the good woman, she did not show it. She only turned her neck like an eager puppy to follow Lucy’s movements. “How did you know I meant to summon a creature?” Lucy asked.

“How could I not know it?” Mrs. Emmett asked.

Lucy let out a long sigh. “Take no insult, Mrs. Emmett, but what are you?”

“I am Mrs. Emmett,” she said with much cheer.

“And you now serve me?”

“Yes, Miss Lucy.”

“You serve me and not Miss Crawford?”

“Yes, Miss Lucy.”

It did not yet make sense, but Lucy suspected she was moving closer to some kind of clarity. “When we first met, you knew you were to serve me? Is that why you embraced me?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Lucy. I know everything that will happen to me. I even know when I shall be no more.”

“You know when you are going to die?” Lucy asked.

“I know everything that is going to happen to me.”

“Then can you not alter things to make your life easier?”

“It is not my life, it is yours.”

This exchange was making Lucy uncomfortable. “What shall I do with you?”

“You need not worry for that. I have saved you from being destroyed this night, as you must have been—for there is an error in your circle. Your talent is great, but it is not flawless. You have come far by trusting your instincts, and you have come to see that your instincts do not lie, but it does not follow that you know all.”

“Miss Crawford warned me not to summon, but I cannot know that she is my friend—that she ever was. My niece is gone—replaced with something vile—and as much as I wish I did not think so, I fear Miss Crawford had a hand in this.”

Mrs. Emmett took her hand. “You must not doubt that she is your friend. You have none better. You cannot know what she has done and what she is yet prepared to do. She does not wish you to know, but you may depend upon her friendship.”

“And what of my niece? What of Emily?” Lucy demanded. “She has been replaced by a changeling. What do you know of it?”

Mrs. Emmett shook her head. “I know nothing of how it was done or who did it.”

“Do you know anything of changelings, of how I may banish it and retrieve my niece?”

“Only what is commonly known,” said Mrs. Emmett.

“Nothing is commonly known,” snapped Lucy. “Tell me what you can.”

“I know that when a child is exchanged, it is hidden away, placed out of time as we understand it, so that months may pass for us, but only seconds for the child. If one were to banish the changeling, the original child would take its place, and to someone who knew not how to pay mind to such things, it would appear only that the child’s disposition had changed.”

“And how is this to be effected?” Lucy demanded. “Can you tell me how?”

“Not I,” said Mrs. Emmett. “I know nothing of alchemy.”

Lucy stepped forward. “It is alchemy?”

“Of the most powerful kind, yes. If a spirit creature chooses to replace a human child itself, that is another matter, but to effect such a change requires the most powerful of alchemical knowledge. One must create a kind of spiritual doorway, and make it strong enough to last. Anyone who could build such a thing could create the philosopher’s stone itself.”

Lucy took hold of Mrs. Emmett’s shoulders. “Then if I were to possess the Mutus Liber , I could retrieve my niece?”

“I daresay yes,” agreed Mrs. Emmett.

Lucy let go of Mrs. Emmett and collapsed into her chair. The Mutus Liber was the key to everything. Her enemies wanted it, but she must want it more, and she must have it first. The course she was already on was the course she must continue to follow, only now with greater urgency and determination.

She looked down at the piece of paper on which she had drawn the complex Enochian circle, which she still clutched in her hand. “And what of this? Do I simply burn this? Is that a safe way to destroy it?”

“Do not destroy it,” said Mrs. Emmett. “Keep it. Keep it with you always.”

“Why? It is corrupt and dangerous. You said so yourself.”

“Because sometimes you can use danger and corruption for good ends,” she said. Mrs. Emmett then leaned down to give Lucy a hug and departed the house, as unseen and unheard as she arrived.

She at last fell asleep in the predawn hours, and awoke late in the morning. By the time she emerged, the house was in disarray. In her room, Martha’s nurse was busily packing her trunk, while downstairs Mr. Buckles was giving Ungston loud and utterly unnecessary orders—“Do not muddy my linens!” Martha sat in a felt armchair of faded green near the window, and the sun glowed against the white curtain at her back, making the wispy strands of Martha’s black hair shine as though she were an angel. And yet, how unlike an angel was the creature that crawled up her shoulder. Its back was to Lucy, but she could see its scaly white skin and the strands of greasy, brittle hair that escaped the tiny bonnet, which did not quite conceal its pointed ears.