Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

The odds of finding Imogen’s spirit were negligible. Without knowing where in all the possible realms of heaven and earth she had gone, all Evelina had to draw on was the long friendship that bound them together. That made for a slender thread, but it was far better than nothing. Imogen?

There was no response, and Evelina pushed harder, broadcasting her call through the aether that connected all the realms together as blood binds the body’s organs. She could feel the tug of the bracelets holding her back. They didn’t stop her magic—their primary purpose was to confine her physically—but the silver they were made from made it clumsy, as if she were trying to repair clockwork while wearing ill-fitting gloves.

Her eyes began to drift closed, her gaze still fixed upon the table. The pattern of the wood grain melted into metaphor, outward sight changing to a landscape of the mind. She reached out again, and the sensation was like swimming in thick, warm water, every stroke a satisfying effort that sped her along. She could feel the ripples stirred by her power, and summoned more energy, digging deep into her reserves. She was still recovering from confining the blast that had destroyed the laboratory. Calling on it again so soon would drain her, but no matter. If it helped her friend, she would spare nothing to send those waves to the very ends of that ocean and beyond.

But wanting too much was her mistake. She’d gathered some of her power under the tutelage of the sorcerer Dr. Magnus, and that dark energy was treacherous stuff—all the more so because she’d locked it away so long, afraid of what it stirred in her. But unthinking, she reached for it, ready to put everything on the line.

It bubbled up, sweet and thick as death. Evelina flinched from the contact, her bracelets making her awkward. All it took was for her mastery to slip for one hairbreadth of time and, like a serpent, it turned on her.

Evelina gasped, the sweet ache of the power splitting her in two, as if an ax had riven her breastbone. But what that sharp blade released was delicious, silken fingers delivering equal parts pleasure and pain along every nerve of body and mind. She froze, her body locked in that inhalation of surprise at the same instant her perception flew outward in a sudden burst. In that moment she encompassed so much, too much, but she indeed sensed Imogen, a quivering mote in a vast, unformed Somewhere.

Imogen! Joy rang through Evelina, her vulnerable state making every emotion thunderously acute. She lunged for Imogen, the flicker of Evelina’s conscious energy darting out. She needed to touch Imogen, to grab her and pull her home.

But Evelina didn’t really know how, and she had lost full control of that wild, serpent strength. The lunge made her lose her inner balance, a sudden slip and fall, her mind frantically twisting to keep the power steady but fumbling it all the same. Imogen’s location spun out of mind.

Evelina’s head hit the table with a crack. It snapped her back to herself, the wood-grain pattern suddenly stark before her. “Ow!” She pressed a hand to her forehead, her stomach lurching dangerously.

And then the scattered power crashed through the room, animating the scraps of unfinished clockwork strewn across the table. Gears whirred, levers pumped and clicked and chirruped—nothing quite working because nothing was entirely finished. Most of the machines didn’t even have springs to wind them yet, but they still flailed in a mockery of life, half-formed creatures born before their time. Only the clock on the mantel chimed a coherent protest, its careful calibration knocked askew by the marauding energy.

Damn and blast . Evelina covered her ears at the racket, sickened by the pulse of uncontrolled power, and then had to jump up to close the valve of the gas burner when it tried to set itself alight. There was a pain behind her eyes that threatened a nosebleed, but trying to dampen the energy would only make it worse. The only way to avoid that was to wait out the maelstrom and hope no one else heard it.

Eventually, slowly, the power dissipated into hiccups of activity, and then finally nothing. She fell back into her chair, covered in perspiration that cooled until she shivered. Fright crackled like static through her body. Falling, whether it was from a tightrope or from the construct of a spell, always left her wide-eyed and prickling.

She was drained and she had failed—and it stung. Bracing her elbows on the table, Evelina pressed her face into her hands, pushing back her emotions. Now all that was left was to get word to Madam Thalassa—if Holmes could find her—and warn her about the protective magic she’d set around Imogen. She hoped the medium could find a way around it. But worse in Evelina’s mind was having to admit that she wasn’t up to the job of helping her own friend. What kind of a half-trained, ham-fisted magic user was she?

Evelina rose from the worktable, her knees still shaky, and pushed open the window, one of her silver bracelets clattering against the glass. The air was cold, but it would help to clear her head. A dirigible floated above the college rooftops, the fat red balloon as cheerful as a child’s toy in the pewter-colored sky. Behind it, the sun struggled against the thick cloud, but it was a losing battle. By nightfall, there would be rain.

Her gaze left the sky as the clock across the common struck three. She’d gone up once to look at the workings inside. They had been unremarkable, but the view of Highgate and Hampstead Heath had reminded her of all the places she was now forbidden to roam. The isolation was worst. It had been nearly a year since she’d been allowed to visit freely with friends or family and she craved contact.

Just as Keating used the bracelets, he used family affection as a weapon. He’d manipulated her into the Whitechapel escapade by threatening her uncle. Now he enforced her obedience the same way. She had to earn time with those she loved through perfect obedience—and no doubt the laboratory incident would weigh against her.

But there were the secret letters. Her gaze fell on the modest Ladies’ College library. It was open to the public on Tuesday afternoons—a concession to the township that formed part of the agreement for using the land. A man in a tweed coat was sitting on a bench outside the doors, smoking and thumbing through a book. As the last chime of the clock melted away, he opened his watch, checked it, and rose. He was in his thirties, brown haired, fit, with a mustache and pleasant, open features. Evelina knew him at once: Dr. John Watson. Twice in one week. Something’s up!

As he stood and tucked the volume into his pocket, a dog she hadn’t seen emerged from under the iron bench and trotted at his heels. It was a water spaniel with rusty-brown spots and probably belonged to a patient who was too indisposed to walk it. The dog was perfect camouflage. With the animal in tow, Watson looked every inch a gentleman of the half-rural neighborhood, out for a pleasant stroll to the library. He wasn’t as well known as her uncle—in fact, though he was a handsome man, he had a gift for making himself utterly invisible. Nobody, including the Gold King’s Yellowbacks, would give him a second glance.

Evelina knew better, excitement mounting inside her. There would be a letter waiting for her in their secret hiding place in the library wall. Gratitude to the dear, loyal doctor burned hot within her, bringing tears to her eyes. Evelina grabbed her coat and nearly ran out of her rooms.

She reached the quadrangle and began hurrying along one of the paths that crisscrossed the green between the buildings. She pulled her coat closer, realizing that she’d forgotten to button it in her haste, and then fumbled for the gloves she knew were stuffed in her coat pockets, barely slowing her pace. Soon frost would extinguish the last of the flowers. Already, the creepers that covered the walls were touched with red.