The Baskerville Tales (Short Stories) (7 page)

The dead thing was staring at Violet, transfixed. “Gararagh,” it said.

Violet’s face changed, her eyes going wide. A sound no more intelligible than his came from deep in her belly.

Evelina watched as the girl struggled to regain her composure, and their eyes met for one instant. Violet swallowed hard and lifted her chin high, the light behind her making a glory of her russet hair. Someone reached to pull her away from the door, but she shook off the hand, refusing to withdraw.

A hush fell over the crowd. Violet took a step forward, her lips working as if she were fighting off tears. “You came. That’s good, Tom, you did exactly as I asked. But you can go now. Go back to sleep.”

Evelina experienced a moment of surprised admiration. Rather than hide, rather than run and leave others in danger, Violet had taken responsibility for what she’d done. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to matter. Tom grunted but didn’t budge.

Evelina circled behind Tom toward the school, staying in the shadows. She was aiming for a compromise position—still out of sight, but at a good enough angle in case she had to
shoot.

The deva picked that moment to dive in with the clockwork chair. With madly flapping wings, the armchair lowered, and then tilted forward. It dumped the candle right on Tom’s head. Wax dribbled down his face, but he blinked it away. The flame went out with a wisp of black smoke.

Evelina’s stomach plummeted. There were no easy answers for her, no clean fixes. Just dirty hands. That was how things always ended.

Violet cast her a sideways look. She spoke under her breath, just loud enough that Evelina heard. “Why won’t he go? He’s done what I’ve asked.”

Evelina shook her head. She answered in a whisper. “Maybe you have to make it official. Say you release him. Say it three times. Three seems to be the proper number for a spell.”

Violet’s fingers were crushing handfuls of her lush green skirts, but Evelina could still see their trembling. Now Evelina didn’t envy her the dress.

“I release you, Tom Cannon,” Violet said in a clear, ringing voice. “I release you. I release you. My spell is done.”

Murmurs sprang up behind her. Violet had used magic, and now everyone knew. The girl stared ahead at her former beau, face set in an expressionless mask. She never flinched as the murmurs grew to an excited roar. Someone was calling for the constables.

Tom sagged, as if the bones of his spine had suddenly gone soft. A moan came from him that made Evelina’s skin pucker with fear.

“Is it over?” the girl asked through clenched teeth.

Instinct made Evelina move before her brain caught up. She darted forward and grabbed Violet’s wrist, dragging her to the right.

Tom launched himself at the spot where Violet had been the moment before. Evelina burst into a run, dragging the girl behind her. A bellow of rage followed them, but by then they were around the corner of the building.

That spot was deserted. Evelina pulled the pistol from beneath her coat.

“No!” Violet let out a wail that didn’t sound like her at all. “Don’t kill him!”

Evelina couldn’t afford to listen. “He’s already dead. I think he’s going to kill you.”

Violet’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She started to sob.

Evelina couldn’t afford to comfort her. When Tom rounded the corner, she fired the Webley revolver. Once, twice, thrice. His head exploded in a shower of bone shards and muck. The body toppled, landing in a twitching heap. The pistol fell from Evelina’s numbed hand.

Her ears rang, but it was as much from horror as from the noise of the shots. A tremor ran through her, leaving her cold and sweating at once. She fell back, bracing herself on the wall. Her legs had gone weak as a fever victim’s.

Violet picked up the gun, tears coursing down her face. “Oh, Tom.”

“What are you doing?” Evelina spun, and gasped.

Violet had been standing too close. Her dress was ruined, covered in gore, her face splattered with a fine mist of blood. None of that was as feral as the look on her face. She resembled a wolf suddenly finding itself caged, ferocious and panicked at once.

She rounded on Evelina, her eyes wild. Evelina flinched, expecting a bullet between her eyes, but Violet gave a smile that was more a baring of teeth. “There’s no point in us both facing ruin.” Her voice was curiously calm. “There’s no hope for me. Get out of here before they see you.”

Evelina glanced down at herself. Gore blotted the front of her coat. “I was the one who
shot him.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Violet snarled. “I’m throwing you a rope, Cooper. Take it.”

Evelina fell back to the shadows, and not a moment too soon. Suddenly people were everywhere, shouting, screaming, and grabbing at Violet. Someone took the gun from her hand and identified it as the one stolen from the groundskeeper. Violet said nothing, not even looking Evelina’s way.
She’s taking the blame for everything
. Yes, Violet had started it all, but somehow it didn’t seem fair.

But by then, Evelina had slipped even farther to the back of the crowd, the dark, drab clothes making her as invisible as a servant. Operating automatically, as if she were made of clockwork, she unbuttoned her long coat, slipping it off and folding it to hide the splatter of Tom’s blood. Cold air bit through her dress.

She looked at the corpse, a bloody, still ruin on the grass. Her stomach rolled queasily, but stayed put. Tom dead wasn’t as bad as Tom alive.
And it wasn’t really a question of alive and dead. You can’t kill a corpse
. She’d just made him stop. A confused guilt still pummeled her, though. Tom’s risen body had still borne a face she knew—until she’d shot it off.

That did it. Evelina dropped her coat and ducked behind a tree to be ill. Her head spun as she clung to the bark, but she just managed to hold on to her stomach.

Firm hands pulled her around. Evelina was confronted with the hard, square face of Mrs. Roberts. The headmistress spoke in sharp, clipped tones. “Will you kindly tell me what were you doing back here with Violet?”

Evelina looked at her feet, guilt and failure rising like a foul tide. “I tried to help her, ma’am.”

“From her own folly!” Suspicion pulled at the headmistress’s features. “Why are you
dressed like that? Where were you tonight?”

Evelina swallowed back a stammer. “I went to check on Dr. Larch. He’s not been himself lately.”

“You expect me to believe that you went calling on the night of the ball?”

Evelina shook her head, desperation making her speak too fast. “There was no place for me, ma’am. I had nothing to wear. My dress was ruined. My family did not come.”
I used magic. I shot Tom. I am as guilty as Violet!

“And how was the Reverend Dr. Larch?” The headmistress said, sarcasm thick in her voice.

Curiosity gnawed at Evelina despite her panic. Why
had
Mrs. Roberts ignored his warnings? “Anxious, ma’am. He suspected someone had used magic from the book you returned to him.”

Mrs. Roberts drew herself to her full height. She was as tall as most men, and Evelina suddenly felt very small. “There is no
magic
at Wollaston Academy,” she said fiercely. “That is a figment of Dr. Larch’s wandering mind. There have always been those who wished to discredit the school. I have no doubt the academy’s detractors are encouraging the poor soul in his delusions.”

“What about Tom?”

The headmistress wavered, obviously doing her best not to look his way. “He was always a problem boy. No doubt his father will have something to say to him after all this is over.”

Befuddlement clogged Evelina’s mind. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it, embarrassment and pity welling up to steal her words.

The formidable Mrs. Roberts refused to believe what was in front of her. She denied the
fact that Tom was twice dead and accepted Evelina’s Banbury tale about visiting the rector in the dead of night. But what she was really hiding from was her own failure.

Morwenna Roberts was ruined. She was the headmistress who let a schoolgirl raise a corpse right under her nose. The news would be all over the Empire by week’s end. Her career, her livelihood, and the Wollaston Academy were over. She hadn’t wanted to listen to Dr. Larch’s warnings because she knew they were absolutely true.

Mrs. Roberts waved a hand. “Go to bed, Evelina. There is nothing more to see here tonight.” With that, she turned on her heel and strode into the crowd.

The clamor of the guests and students was fading to a murmur. Evelina watched as Violet’s brute of a father grabbed her arm and hauled her away, her feet barely touching the grass. Thanks to her, the Asterley-Hendersons had just become social lepers.

The russet-haired girl showed not a flicker of distress, until she turned for one last look at Tom’s ruined form. Then Evelina saw, in that single turn of the head, all the girl’s misery.

The crowd trailed after the Asterley-Hendersons, eagerly awaiting the next act. Evelina felt hot tears on her face. The rest of her was ice-cold.

The deva floated in the low brush by the wall of the building.
Are you going to finish this?

Evelina looked around. As quickly as they had arrived, everyone but her had left that side of the grounds, but she could hear Imogen’s voice. Her friend would be looking for her, probably with the help of her brother.

Common sense told her to leave then, slip upstairs, and change into clean clothes. It would be safest if she vanished from the scene. No doubt they’d be sending constables to scrape up what was left of Tom Cannon and put him back into his grave. With luck, he’d even stay
there. Maybe.

Maybe was less than Dr. Larch and the deva had hoped for. It was less than she’d asked of herself. And, if the spell wasn’t entirely done, Tom and Violet needed her to make a clean end.

Evelina took another glance around, her skin jumping with tension. She fumbled in her pocket for the matches and lit one. Her head reeled with fatigue. Trying not to look, she knelt beside the gory mess, holding the flame steady and close until the match scorched her fingers.

Finally, the flesh ignited, a latticework of fire running along nerves and veins like the lace of a fern. Evelina jumped back, the sudden flare of acrid heat raw against her face. The body glowed hot, suddenly the cherry red of a forge when the bellows were pumped. It crackled, hissing as black began to edge inward across the red like a closing eye. Then it collapsed, complete and sudden as if everything below the skin had simply disappeared. A moment later, Tom Cannon imploded into ash. The whole thing barely took a quarter of a minute.

The world around her swirled. Evelina pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Emotions hadn’t even formed yet, but every cell in her being knew that nothing that had ever been human should burn that way.

Thank you
, the deva whispered as it vanished upward into the starry night.

Evelina stood a moment, listening to the clamor of voices inside the academy. Lost in the darkness, she felt alone amid the rise and fall of the human sounds. She tried to wipe the soot of gunpowder and the matches from her fingers, but it only ground deeper into her hands.

Then she picked up her coat from where she’d let it fall and left the dirty patch in the grass where Tom had been, walking toward the front of the school and away from the crowd. The stars were gone, and snow began to fall. Not big, fluffy flakes, but the hard, small ones that
meant to stay until spring. Her eyes ached, but somehow she had passed beyond tears.

There was a figure standing a dozen yards ahead, looking around uncertainly until he caught sight of her. She couldn’t see his face and at first she kept her head down, not wanting to speak to anybody.

But with a quick step, he approached to meet her. “Evelina.”

She stopped, her stomach clenched, wanting him there and wishing him away at the same time. “Tobias.”

“Imogen is looking for you.”

He came a little closer, and the light from the windows fell across his features. Like his sister, he was tall and fair-haired. Whenever they met, Evelina’s heart would falter, her self-command unequal to his fallen-angel smile. He loved the same things she did: clockwork, books, and clever conversation.

But from the tales Imogen whispered—to their scandalized delight—her brother and his boon companions also loved cards and women, liquor and boisterous company. Lord Bancroft had money, and his son and heir could afford to amuse himself. Usually, Evelina found the two halves of Tobias Roth a tantalizing puzzle. But she’d burned one rake already that night and was in no mood for the charms of another—even if Tobias was a much, much better man.

“How lovely to see you.” She tried to sound sincere, but had no energy left for the task.

He gave her a quizzical look. “You weren’t at the ball.”

“I had something to do.”

Evelina worked to keep her spine straight, her head high. There would be no explaining her role in the night’s events, no leaning on him for comfort and sympathy. He knew nothing of her unorthodox upbringing and even less about her magic.

“Why aren’t you wearing your coat? It’s freezing out here.”

“It got soiled.”

“Badly enough to give yourself your death of a cold?” He gave her a grin that set her pulse racing, even after everything that had happened that night. “Mysterious Evelina.”

In truth, she was too much in shock to truly feel the wintery air. “It’s your fault if I’m cold. I was going inside until you stopped me.”

Why
had
he stopped her, here alone in the dark? A sense of caution chilled her deeper than the snow, making her fold her arms across her chest, clutching her coat close.

“What could be so important that you missed the dance?” he prompted.

A vision of Tom’s head exploding flashed through her memory. A tremor ran through her limbs. “There are more things in life than dance.”

“What put you in such a dour mood?”

“Didn’t you hear what happened to Violet Asterley-Henderson?”

“Ah.” He gestured for them to continue walking. Evelina fell into step beside him. “I didn’t know the girl or her family,” he said, “but it sounds like a sad affair.”