The Midnight Witch (49 page)

We will help you, mistress! We can assail your enemy, catch him unawares, beat him back.

No! If you interrupt his concentration you may cause the spell to be broken and Bram will fall. The risk is too great.

“I grow tired of waiting for your answer, Morningstar. Are you content to watch another loved one die?”

A calmness descends upon me as I realize what it is I must do. I experience no fear, no panic, only a firm certainty. There is no other path.

I look at Bram. He has mastered his own fear and his face is resolute. I know he is thinking of me, of how to make this easier for me.

“Don’t do it, Lilith,” he calls to me. “Don’t give him what he wants. You can’t. You must not.”

I instruct my guardians clearly, so there can be no doubt.

Use all your strength. Save Bram. Let nothing prevent you. Nothing. Only save him.

But mistress …

Do as I tell you!

Stricklend sees what is happening and begins working another spell. It could be one to stop my captains helping or it could be one to send Bram plummeting to his death. I cannot know. In the moment his attention is drawn away from me, I summon all my strength. My witch’s strength. Silently, I call on Hekate to come to my aid, to give me even a fraction of her power. The power to stop a beating heart or to force breath from a body. I call on any listening spirits to contribute their energy to what I must unleash upon Stricklend. I wait as long as I dare, trusting that if Bram falls,
when
Bram falls, he will be caught by my spirit allies and brought to safety.

Stricklend curses. The spell he is using to suspend Bram is affected. I hear a shout and see Bram tumbling, not quite falling, but turning, over and over. Stricklend’s magic is precise and expertly controlled, but it is hampered by his having to defend himself from my own spells. I know I have only a fraction of the time I really need to work a spell of disturbance, a fierce and painful one, against Stricklend. I recite the ancient phrases at great speed, tripping over the unfamiliar sounds in my haste. He becomes aware of what I am doing and his face darkens further.

“You insult me, witch! Do you think I am afraid of you? You have no notion of the magic of which I am capable. The Sentinels once possessed what you and your Lazarus brothers and sisters so arrogantly consider to be yours. We have worked, for generations, toward reclaiming the Elixir, to having it restored to us. And over those long years we have honed our skills, developed our talents, passing down this knowledge and ability, working and practicing our art, utterly intent on our prize. The Sentinels have never had such a leader as the one who stands before you now, Morningstar. I am the apotheosis of that ambition. All those centuries of magic are distilled through me. I can crush the life from any being who treads this earth—man, woman, witch, or sorcerer. And I will crush you. All of you.”

So saying he utters harsh, guttural words, enforcing his magic, so that I see magic fizzing and crackling in the air around him. The Cavaliers are whirling around Bram in an effort to protect him, but Stricklend is too powerful, and I know that if he releases the spell he is building to, they will not be able to defend Bram against it.

It is a simple matter to step in front of my adversary, to put myself directly between him and Bram, to stand in the path of the evil magic that was meant for the man I love. As I do so I hurl my own half-formed spell at Stricklend with all the fury I can command. As my own magic finds its target I see Stricklend drop to his knees with a cry of pain. But not before he has sent forth his own vicious spell. At least, as I fall to the ground, I have the satisfaction of knowing that not only is Bram protected but that the wicked Sentinel is, for now, disarmed. The charge of blackness that he has released finds its target not in Bram but in me. It is not the piercing stab of a dagger, as I might have expected, but the blow of a hammer, as if a giant has wielded the thing, and my flimsy body has taken the full brunt of the strike.

I can hear someone calling my name. It is Bram, his voice full of anguish. My vision blurs and shapes swim before my eyes. I know I should breathe. I try to, but little air will enter my body. I feel I am filled instead with some solid, suffocating substance that repels life. I am aware of figures moving. Stricklend turns and flees, clutching at his side where the arrowhead of my spell found its mark. And suddenly Bram is here, cradling me in his arms.

“Lilith! Oh my God, my darling Lily.”

“You are safe, my love.”

“It was me he meant to hurt! What has he done to you?” He holds me close, kissing my face, saying my name over and over.

Oh! My body is failing. Soon I, too, will be nothing but spirit. I must pass on the Great Secret. Dare I risk doing it after I have crossed the Rubicon? What if I am prevented from returning somehow? Can Stricklend’s hatred reach me even in the Land of Night? I cannot take the chance. I will tell Bram. I can trust him. I have to trust him.

“Lilith,” Bram calls to me again. “Let me send for a doctor.”

“No doctor. You must listen to me…”

“There must be something I can do.”

“Bram, please. I am dying…”

“No!”

“I am not afraid. No necromancer fears death. I will cross the Rubicon to the Land of Night and join my Gentle Spirits there.”

“No.” He is weeping now, and it breaks my heart to see him so lost, so afraid. “Please, my love, don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

I reach up and touch his face. “I am sorry. My only regret is that I must leave you. My poor love. Forgive me, my darling, but there is one more thing I would ask of you…”

“Yes. Anything. Anything.”

“The Great Secret. It cannot die with me. I will entrust it to you.”

“But … I am no witch.”

“You must pass it on. Tell Louis. He will guard it with his life, I know he will.”

Bram is shaking his head, not wanting to face what is happening.

“You have to be strong, Bram, my darling. Please, do this for me.” I gasp as my body screams out for the air it is being denied. Stricklend’s spell is slowly crushing the life from me.

Bram steadies his voice and strokes my cheek. “All right. Lie still, my love. Tell me what it is that you have given your life for. I promise I will tell no one but Louis.”

I nod. I want to be gentle, to explain, to make him understand, to hear him forgive me for abandoning him, but I have so little strength left. So little time.

“The Great Secret reveals the final ingredient needed to assemble the Lazarus Elixir. Without it, the potion is powerless, it cannot work.” My heart is thudding, laboring, stuttering now, with irregular, unnatural beats. I must press on. “Three drops of blood from a baby. Newborn. It must be collected before the infant is an hour on this earth. A silver pin, pricked into the heel, and the precious drops collected.”

“From a newborn?”

Suddenly, through the haze of my fading senses, I am aware of a thickening of the air behind Bram. A movement of some force, some malevolent force. Too late I realize we have been overheard. Willoughby! Willoughby’s Dark Spirit was here all along, waiting, listening. Stricklend knew I would be forced to pass on the Great Secret. I was the intended victim all along. He knew that only at the point of my death would I divulge what he wanted to know! The shadowy shape shifts and is gone again. Gone to its master!

“Oh Bram, we have been tricked! I have been so stupid! The Dark Spirit was here.” I try to sit up, shaking my head. I have not enough breath to explain. “He will take what he has learned to Stricklend. If that monster knows … don’t you see? No baby, no mother, would ever be safe again.”

“Hush now, Lilith, do not distress yourself further, please, my darling.”

“You have to stop him. Promise me, you and Louis. And Druscilla. Ask for her help. Promise me!”

“I promise. Oh, God, Lilith!” Bram’s eyes fill with tears again as my body is wracked with a painful spasm.

“One more thing, Bram, it is vital … listen…”

“Yes, my love, I am listening. What is it?”

“At the convent. Ask for the cask … Sister Bernadette. And Bram, you must remember, a
girl
baby.” I can feel myself fading. My limbs are weightless. There is no longer any pain, merely a sensation of floating, of drifting upward. I can hear the spirits calling to me…’The precious drops of blood must be … taken from a
gir
l baby to raise a woman. From a …
boy
baby to raise … a…” As I form the words they sound to me as if they come from some far distant place, rather than from my own mouth. And at last I am free of my body. Free of my earthly ties. And the blessed blackness of the night envelops me, swaddles me, embraces me, until at last I am absorbed into the dark where no stars shine, no light glows, save for that of the phantasmagoria that rises to welcome me to my new home.

27.

“No!” Bram’s cry of pain cuts through the cool night air. He clutches Lilith to him and rocks her in his arms, his tears falling unchecked now. He knows she is dead. Knows she has gone to another place. A place she has known of and understood all her life, but not a place he can fathom or ever conceive of going to. “Don’t,” he begs her. “Don’t leave me, my love.” He pulls back to look at her exquisite face and kiss her cold lips. She looks so pale, her skin is almost transparent, as if her body might fade away, too. “You are too young, too precious,” he tells her, shaking his head, refusing to accept what has happened. “And I love you too much.” He buries his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, the thought of releasing her unbearable.

And then it comes to him. The realization of what he must do strikes him with such clarity he cannot question it. Quickly, he picks Lilith up. He sees Terence’s lifeless body and knows he is beyond help. He carries Lilith to the observatory. Inside, the air is almost as cool as outside, but he is aware of a strange disturbance in the atmosphere, and he knows that he is not alone. He is able to detect the presence of many spirits. “Guard your mistress,” he tells them as he lays her down on the cushioned chaise. He kisses her one more time and then hurries away, back down the stairs. In the bedroom he pulls on his jacket and boots, before racing down to the foyer of the apartment block, where he hands the concierge a five-pound note.

“Send for Lord Harcourt, the earl of Winchester,” he tells him. “Say that Lady Lilith has urgent need of him. He must come at once. When he does, admit him, and send him up to the observatory where he must wait for me. Be sure and tell him: he must wait for me. Lady Lilith is unwell, do you understand?”

Satisfied that the man will carry out his instructions, Bram rushes out into the night. The hour is late, but he succeeds in finding a motor cab.

“St. Mary’s Convent, quick as you can,” he tells the driver. He knows what he must have, if Louis is to save Lilith, and he is certain he knows where Lilith would keep it.

A place of safety, she told me. A place of trust.

When the cab arrives at the church he makes sure the driver will wait for him and then hurries inside. The vestry door, like that at the front of the church, is unlocked, so that he is able to run across the courtyard to the entrance to the convent itself. He hammers on the iron-studded wooden door and calls loudly. With surprising speed, the nuns arrive. Bram tells them who he is and asks for the only name he recalls Lilith mentioning. When Sister Bernadette steps forward he speaks directly to her.

“Lilith left something in your safekeeping,” he tells her, barely able to sound rational but knowing it is imperative he do so. “I must have it. I must take it to her now. Her life depends upon it,” he explains. “Sister Bernadette, there is not time for me to explain. I believe you know why Lilith trusted you with what was terribly precious to her, terribly important. She chose to tell me of this place, of what she had done, to tell me about you. She would not have done so had she not wanted me to act on that knowledge if the need arose. Please, without the contents of that box, she is lost to us forever.” He is suddenly aware of how mad he must look, making demands in the middle of the night, his hair wild, his bare skin showing through his unbuttoned jacket.

Sister Bernadette considers his request carefully, while the other nuns make their disapproval known.

“Coming here at such an hour, in such a state!” Sister Agnes is furious.

“We should call the police,” says another nun.

“That will not be necessary,” Sister Bernadette assures them. “Sister Margaret, fetch the box belonging to Lady Lilith.”

Sister Agnes objects. “She left it in our care—we ought not to give it up to some drunkard who brings us from our beds!”

“Quickly, Sister Margaret, if you please.” Sister Bernadette is adamant and will not hear any further argument on the matter. “I believe it is what Lady Lilith would want,” she says calmly. When the box arrives, she hands it to Bram. “Do your best for our dear friend,” she tells him.

“Thank you, Sister.” Clutching the box and its priceless contents to him, he runs back to the waiting motor cab. Although the driver is swift and the streets empty, the journey back to Waterloo Place seems desperately slow. Bram feels that all he tries to do moves at a hopelessly leaden pace and that his efforts will be in vain. He reaches Lilith’s apartment just as the concierge is letting Louis in. He too has dressed hastily, though he still manages to appear cool in his expensive wool trousers, waistcoat, and white shirt.

“Cardale, what the devil is all this about? I’ve been told Lilith is unwell? Has a doctor been called?”

“She is in the observatory, we must hurry,” he tells him, wrenching open the door of the main lift and beckoning him in. “Come on, man, there is no time to lose.” As the elevator whirs its way upward Bram tries to explain what has happened, though he finds it hard to believe his own words as he hears them spoken aloud. He reminds himself that none of it will seem so fantastical to Louis, for Louis is, after all, a witch, like Lilith. When they get to the door of the observatory, he pauses. “I must warn you, Harcourt, it is … shocking … to see her like this.”