Mirror, page 17
Instead, she reached out and took Phoebe’s hand in hers and held it firm. Maybe together they could resist it.
Phoebe began to cry again. “I’m sorry,” she said through her tears; whether she was talking to her or William, Artemis couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
And then the answer appeared in his eyes—his sad, lonely, pleading eyes.
“Say that again,” Artemis said, sure she was right.
“What?” Phoebe asked between frightened gasps for breath.
“Say that you’re sorry.”
Phoebe looked at her in confusion.
“Say it!”
“I’m sorry,” she said, blurting out the words.
There was no change. Maybe she’d been wrong.
“You have to mean it,” Artemis said.
“I am sorry,” Phoebe said to her then to him, “I am so very sorry, William.”
There it was again, a flicker of something good, something peaceful.
“I should have done more. I was too afraid. I’m so sorry. Oh God, I’m sorry. Please forgive me?” She squeezed her eyes shut as the water was nearly to her neck now. “Please?”
Artemis tensed, holding her friend’s hand so tightly she knew it was painful.
Then, the water stopped moving up Phoebe’s neck. It stayed where it was, shimmering in place.
Phoebe opened her eyes, staring at the boy in wonder. Her breath hitched as she noticed the water had stopped moving.
“Forgive me.”
The boy closed his unblinking eyes then. Beneath the shimmer of the water, his body began to fade. Then a moment later, he disappeared completely and the water fell to the floor with a splash.
Phoebe gasped again and tried to catch her hiccuping breath. “William.”
“I think it’s over,” Artemis said. When Phoebe didn’t move, she pulled her friend into her arms. “It’s all right.”
Phoebe stood frozen in shock for a moment, then returned Artemis’s hug fiercely, as if she too would disappear.
Artemis held her and wept for her friend and for the little boy who’d finally passed on. It had been horrifying, and yet somehow beautiful. And it was a terrifying lesson, but one she would never forget. Not all nightmares are vanquished with a sword.
Chapter Sixteen
“I can carry it.”
Tommy ignored her and reached for the bag resting in the compartment at the back of the carriage. “I know.”
I could carry you and the bag, Artemis thought but had the good manners not to say so.
Despite her protest, Tommy didn’t hand her the satchel.
“I’m bein’ a gentleman.”
Artemis let him; it was easier than arguing the point. And besides, was it really so terrible if he wanted to be chivalrous? It wasn’t as though he did it because he thought she wasn’t capable or something, but simply because he wanted to. That made all the difference.
“Thank you,” she finally said, and they walked across the pavement toward her house.
Artemis opened the front door and went inside, hearing her father’s voice coming from his study.
“I’m back!” she called out.
Tommy held onto the bag and she eyed him curiously. “Are you going to put it down or did you want to take it into my bedroom?”
He dropped it on the bench in the hall like it was a hot poker.
She fought down a giggle and tugged off her gloves as she pushed the half-way open door to her father’s study all the way open.
“I hope I’m not interrupting ….” she said, but the rest died in her throat.
Her father was leaning casually against his desk as a woman inspected one of his book shelves.
“Hello?” Artemis said, feeling the emotion in the room shift as her father stood up straight and regarded her with a slightly anxious smile.
“Artemis.” He seemed oddly off-kilter, something her father seldom was. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”
A pretty young woman stood in her father’s study. What was a patient doing in here? And was she even a patient? She appeared healthy. Actually, a bit disturbingly so. Her skin positively glowed.
“I can see that,” Artemis said a little more coolly than she’d intended.
Her father cleared his throat. “Artemis, this is Miss Ashcroft. Miss Ashcroft, this is my daughter, Artemis.”
Miss Ashcroft took a confident step forward and held out her hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Artemis took her hand unsurely. “And I have heard absolutely nothing about you.”
Miss Ashcroft laughed lightly and her father cleared his throat again.
“Artemis,” he said in a softly chiding voice. “Miss Ashcroft has been kind enough to put up additional wards around the house.”
“Wards?” She can’t be. She … Artemis was instantly on guard. “You’re a witch?”
If Miss Ashcroft noticed the change in her demeanor, she chose to ignore it. “I am.”
Artemis had never met a witch before, and her vision of them did not match the attractive and fashionable woman who stood before her.
Appearances can be deceiving, she reminded herself. Maybe it was some sort of spell and she was an old wrinkly crone beneath her lovely chestnut hair and luminescent skin. Either way, a witch was responsible, at least partially, for the hell that was unleashed on Samhain, and Artemis remained on guard.
She glanced uneasily over at her father, who, for his part, didn’t seem the least bit concerned about having one of them in their home.
Artemis continued to eye her warily. Miss Ashcroft was unfazed by her scrutiny and scanned the room again. She put her hand out, palm up, and a small ball of light arose from it, hovering in the air.
Artemis tensed and Miss Ashcroft gave her an almost amused smile.
She whispered a few words and suddenly a crackling energy like small bits of lightning crawled around the edges of the room, up along the walls and ceiling like a hundred little electric snakes.
Magics?
Artemis reached for her sword, but her father’s voice stopped her.
“It’s all right.”
Artemis didn’t draw her sword, but she didn’t release her hold on it either until the energy began to fade. As quickly as the lights came they disappeared, and Miss Ashcroft lowered her hand.
“Some of my better work, if I do say so myself. I think this new set of wards will serve you well,” Miss Ashcroft said with a pleased look.
“Thank you,” her father said sincerely, offering her a grateful and perhaps slightly shy smile. One that Miss Ashcroft returned.
What is going on here? Go away for a night and—
“I can put some basic protections around the Cliftons’ home and … who were the others?”
“The Quills,” he supplied, picking up a piece of paper. “I’ve written down the addresses. I’m very grateful for your help.”
“They won’t be quite as strong as these are but they should discourage unwanted visitors.” She folded the paper and tucked it into a pocket of her long blue velvet skirt before looking back at Artemis’s father. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”
“Yes, thank you again.”
He moved to show her to the door, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Quite all right. I’ll show myself out.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Miss Ashcroft said to Artemis, sounding as if she truly meant it.
Artemis wasn’t sure if she shared the sentiment or not. “Miss Ashcroft.”
As she left, Artemis watched her go. When her father had told her a month ago that he’d asked a witch to prepare some protective wards for their home, Miss Ashcroft was certainly not what she envisioned. And even then the idea of a witch coming into their home made her uneasy.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked aloud.
“What is?”
“Her. Having a witch here, in our home.”
Her father chuckled softly in confused amusement. “How else could she put up the proper wards?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, knowing she sounded foolish. “It’s just that—can we trust her? I mean, after all that’s happened. And aren’t witches …?”
“Evil?” he supplied.
The stories I’ve read about them ….
Her father came around his desk to stand in front of her. “Not all witches are evil, just as all men aren’t.”
He cast a glance at the doorway. “And, believe me, I was as surprised by her appearance as you were, but that’s the result of our prejudice, not anything else.”
“Are they all as beautiful as she is?”
Her father chuckled again, his eyes straying once more to the door. “No.”
Artemis wasn’t sure how she felt about that look, but she put it away to worry about later. Right now, honestly, she was feeling too good to let a witch or warlock or anyone else spoil her mood. After she and Phoebe released William from his burden, they’d both slept more soundly than they had in ages.
Refreshed and ready to face whatever the world threw at her, she was mastering her duties as the Blaze; she’d defeated the Jabberwock and Leroux’s trap.
“So,” she said, sauntering around to move behind the desk and take her father’s chair, “what’s next? Do we search for Leroux? What?”
He picked up a teacup from the corner of his desk and placed it on the serving tray on the table by the fireplace. “I’m not sure. I thought we might—”
“What’s this?” Artemis asked noticing an envelope sitting on his desk. It was addressed to both of them.
“Oh, that.”
Artemis opened the envelope and a gentleman’s card fell out with the invitation. It was Liam Parker’s.
Her stomach fluttered a little as she held it. “Liam was here?”
She quickly read the insert inviting them to attend the Guy Fawkes Day celebration at Parliament. It was rather last minute, but Artemis beamed at the prospect.
“Yes,” her father said, and something in his voice stopped her in mid-beam.
She chose to ignore it. “I wonder what I should wear. I could wear the blue, but I wore that to the Raycrafts' tea. Maybe I could—”
“We’re not going.”
That brought her up short. “Why not? The Parkers are perfectly respectable people and I’m sure—”
“Come here, Artemis.”
Her father beckoned her to join him by the fireplace.
There was something in his voice, something in his eyes that bothered her. Reluctantly, she got up and walked over to him. He gestured toward one of the wingback chairs.
“What’s going on?” she asked anxiously as she sat down.
“I’m afraid you won’t be seeing Mr. Parker again.”
She sat forward. “What do you mean?”
Holding up a hand, he silently asked her to hold her questions. Looking tired and tense, he moved toward the mantle and then faced her.
“Mr. Parker came by yesterday to ask permission to court you.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest and she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “He did?”
“Yes,” he said, and the way he said it made her heart stutter for a different reason.
“I told him no.”
Four simple words, and she could barely comprehend them.
“You what?”
A boy had finally showed interest in her and her father rejected him? A boy like Liam?
“You are just now barely sixteen, Artemis—”
She got out of her chair and stood in front of him. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“It has everything to do with everything.”
“Since when do you care about social proprieties?”
He’d always let her do things society frowned upon. He’d let her walk alone, unchaperoned, since she was thirteen. He’d taught her fencing and science. Neither of them cared a wit what anyone thought about any of that, so why would he suddenly care what they thought about this now?
“It’s not about social strictures—”
“Isn’t it?” she demanded, anger growing inside her. “Some antiquated rule arbitrarily says I need to be eighteen in order to spend time with a boy and you agree with it. When did you start caring what everyone else thinks?”
He set his jaw. “My decision isn’t based on any social construct but on my own belief in what is right and wrong, what you are prepared for and what you are not.”
She made a choking sound. “I’m old enough to risk my life being the Blaze, but I’m not old enough to spend ten minutes alone with a boy.”
“Precisely.”
She drew back as if she’d been slapped. Didn’t he see how absurd that was?
“Hypocrite.”
His eyes flashed with anger. “Artemis—”
She didn’t care. It was just too ridiculous. “You can’t expect me to be an adult one moment and then treat me as a child the next simply because it suits you.”
She took a few steps away to calm herself. It didn’t help. How could he treat her like this?
“I am not a child.”
“In this,” he said, “you are.”
She glared at him, but he continued.
“I blame myself in part for that. I’ve kept you away from social situations where you might have learned some of the things you should. And,” he added, looking into the fire, “with no mother to guide you, I’m afraid I failed to prepare you for certain social … circumstances.”
Her heart continued its plummet. “You don’t trust me. That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t trust me.”
“I do,” he said.
“Just not in this,” she added.
“There are things you simply do not know, nor should you at your age.” He grunted in frustration. “Hasn’t enough of your youth been stolen from you?”
“So why do you want to take this from me as well?”
With a groan of frustration, he strode to the center of the room then spun on his heel. “I’m trying to give you something, not take something.”
“It doesn’t seem that way to me. What is it your so afraid of? Liam would never hurt me.”
His face darkened. “I was a nineteen-year-old boy once, Artemis. I think I know better than you what he’s capable of.”
“You don’t know him. You don’t know him at all.”
“Neither do you. Not in any real sense of the word.”
She hadn’t known him long, but she knew him. But that wasn’t the point. Liam wasn’t even the point anymore.
“I can handle myself. I’m the Blaze, remember?”
He pushed out a breath again. “It is not your physical wellbeing I fear for, Artemis; it is your heart.”
He looked so sincere, so concerned, her outrage almost abated. Almost.
When he looked at her it was with the same expression, the same worry she’d seen on his face the night he’d told her the truth about her destiny.
He took a breath and regarded her ruefully. “I can heal your cuts and bruises, but I cannot mend a broken heart.”
Even through her anger the tenderness of his expression and his genuine concern and anguish reached her.
“It is my heart to break,” she said.
He stared at her for so long she thought he might relent. “I’m sorry, Artemis. But you are simply too young. It was inappropriate for him to even ask.”
She began to argue again.
“No more debate,” he interrupted. “You’re not to see him again. There will be plenty of time for such things in a few years.”
“Years?”
He came toward her and gently took hold of her shoulders. “I know it seems a long way off, but it isn’t. Time will pass more quickly than you realize. Right now, I’d say you have more than enough to occupy yourself. Need I remind you that Leroux—”
She looked away. “I don’t need to be reminded.”
His voice was quiet in reply. “No, I suppose you don’t.”
Her head was spinning. She needed air and time to think.
“Leroux will try again,” he said.
She knew that! She knew that better than he did. How could her father know her so well and so little at the same time?
“I’m going for a walk,” she said.
He appeared ready to say something, to reach out to her again, but dropped his arms to his sides. He shoved his hands into his pockets and gave her a curt nod.
Without another word she headed for the door and left her father behind.
Artemis stalked down the sidewalk, carried along block after block by anger and frustration.
How could he be so …?
She gave a strangled sort of scream at her father’s impossibly unfair decision, garnering a few odd looks from passersby.
She flashed her eyes at them. Let them stare!
She marched south, wending her way toward Wellington Arch, only vaguely aware of the brewing storm overhead. It suits my mood. She was doing a little brewing of her own.
How could he think this was remotely fair? How could he expect her to be an adult, risking her very life one moment, and then swaddle her in cotton the next? It was impossible. He was impossible.
She passed between the palace gardens and Hyde Park and continued south, for no reason other than that’s where her feet were taking her.
She was an adult, nearly. She’d shown good sense, mostly. How could he treat her like she was an infant barely able to walk or talk, much less think on her own?
She wasn’t a child and she didn’t need his protection. If anything, he needed hers.
Ha! I should have said that. That would have really gotten his goat.
She was mature enough to handle a boy, wasn’t she? Not that she had a great deal of experience in such things. Or really any, but how hard could it be? They were just people. Weren’t they?
Her quick steps began to slow.
She was admittedly nervous around Liam, although why, she didn’t know. No one else had made her feel so off-balance and at the same time so centered. It was a paradox. She didn’t like paradoxes. They were so … paradoxical.
And his fear that Liam would hurt her? Preposterous. He was kind and thoughtful. Level-headed. It was true that she hadn’t known him long, but she was a good judge of character, wasn’t she?
