The Potioneer (Shadeborn Book 3) Read online

  Novel flinched in mid-air, but he didn’t lose height for a second. The shade rotated in the dark hollow of air, levitating gently towards the ground as his pale eyes sought out the woman calling him.

  “What?” he called.

  “Did you find the intruder?” Lily repeated. “The one you said was backstage?”

  Novel’s feet came to rest between two rows of seats, and he glanced back up to the theatre’s heights once more as he landed.

  “Um… no,” the shade replied. “He got away.”

  “Oh,” Lily said, a pang of disappointment hitting her hard in the stomach. “We caught ours.”

  “That professor of yours,” Novel said with an absent nod, “Baptiste just went… I saw…”

  Lily picked up her feet with a burst of air, slowly gliding towards where Novel stood. He was still looking up at the heights, the upper circle in fact, and Lily followed his gaze towards the shadowy nothingness that lurked there.

  “Was there even an intruder at all down here?” she asked him. “Or did you just want to be alone to investigate that light?”

  She reached out for his curious face, touching his chin gently to turn his gaze from the rafters. Novel let her lead him until their eyes met, and he leaned in closer to her, their foreheads resting together.

  “You’re getting to know me too well,” he mused glibly.

  “I hope so,” Lily answered, and she meant it.

  A Not So Jolly Holiday

  Though very few of the Theatre Imaginique’s inhabitants actually celebrated Christmas, the festive day itself seemed to bring a quaint air of joy to the stony walls. On Christmas Day morning, Lily awoke to the somewhat unusual sight of Novel, who was sleeping peacefully beside her. The muscles of his pale face were slack, eyes heavily lidded and his mouth open a little on one side, and Lily turned herself over as softly as she could to give herself a moment of tender gazing. She reached out for him, gently pushing back that wayward white curl that had invaded his brow and, at the barest touch, Novel’s eyes gave a twitch, and he was awake.

  “Damn,” Lily said with a quiet laugh, “I wanted you asleep for longer. You looked so calm.”

  Novel swallowed and licked at his dry lips. “Then I must have been dreaming about something very far from reality. Nothing’s ever calm with you around.”

  “And Merry Christmas to you too,” Lily retorted jovially.

  “Oh, yes, that’s today,” Novel answered with a sleepy kind of brightness.

  Lily reached behind her, searching for her watch beyond the folds of fabrics all around them. In the dark shadows of the four-poster’s crimson curtains, it could almost have been any time of day or night, but the ever-ticking face of the clock told Lily it was nine a.m. She held the watch up, dangling it to and fro, past the end of the illusionist’s nose.

  “Look at you, getting up in the morning like a normal person,” she teased.

  Novel shuffled closer, swatting the watch out of her grip. Where it landed, Lily had no time to look, for a pair of strong, warm hands encased her waist and pulled her close. She felt Novel’s lips tracing lines along her collarbone, and his voice was low and rumbling when he spoke against her earlobe.

  “We’re not getting up just yet,” he promised wickedly.

  *

  When Lily eventually made it down to the small sitting room in the back quarters of the Theatre, she was surprised to see so many people gathered at the mid-morning hour. Poppa Seward was reclining in an old armchair by the window, resting his large feet on the sill where they sported a brand new pair of zebra-print slippers. Beneath him, on the rug, Rasmus and Erasmus had curled their huge athletic forms into cross-legged obedience, though they were having a tug-of-war over a precarious-looking shiv that still had half its white plastic gift bow attached.

  “You’ve all got presents,” Lily said with astonishment.

  “It was Jazzy’s idea,” Dharma answered. She approached Lily, holding up a black feather boa that grazed her neck like a lazy serpent. The high-street label still hung from one end. “Don’t you think it’s sweet? Such a lovely little human thing.”

  It was as close to a compliment as Dharma Khan ever came, and Lily felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach as she surveyed the far corner of the room, where a small pile of presents still remained. Lily knew that, religiously at least, Jazzy didn’t even celebrate Christmas, yet she’d been the one to bring cheer and festivities to even the strangest collection of beings. Lily approached the present pile, reading the names on the remaining labels, until she found a small but heavy volume wrapped in scarlet paper. She turned on her heel to find Novel right behind her, and shoved the gift into his grip.

  “Oh, surely not,” the illusionist said, looking down at the parcel sheepishly. Sure enough, its label read Lemarick, in Jazzy’s haphazard script.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t get you anything,” Lily added glibly, though in truth she was starting to wish she had, in the face of her sweet little friend’s generosity.

  Novel looked up, and his eyes met hers with a deep, almost fearful longing.

  “You being safe and sound is the best thing anyone could give me,” he replied.

  As Lily kissed his cheek, she heard the rustling of paper, and when she looked down, Novel was holding a freshly unwrapped book in his hands. The cover tickled Lily at once, and she had to inhale a deep breath not to laugh out loud as Novel began reading the title.

  “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus,” he read dryly, “the classic guide to understanding the opposite sex.”

  The chorus of laughter rang out in the tiny little room, carrying all the way up the theatre’s long and winding corridors. Dharma had seated herself next to Zita on the sofa, and the pair of them held close to one another in their fit of hysterics. One sharp-nailed finger rose on Dharma’s hand to waggle a warning.

  “You must read it, Lemarick,” she chortled.

  “Cover to cover,” Zita exclaimed gleefully, “promise us!”

  And, where only a year ago Lily might have supposed that Novel would hit the roof in a fit of lightning and flames, on Christmas Day he simply smiled, and tucked the book away within the folds of his tailcoat. He gave the ladies on the sofa a gracious bow, his face level and polite as he replied.

  “I shall endeavour. Now, where might I find that little rapscallion to thank her for this most… thoughtful present?”

  “Hmmm,” said Poppa from the armchair. “Lawrence went to wake her quite some time ago. I wonder, if…”

  A cheeky smile crossed the Haitian man’s dark face, and laughter erupted again in the sitting room. Lily was still chuckling as she made her way back to the present pile, and her fingertips had just barely grazed the edge of a large silver box marked with her name when a great commotion came from behind her. Footsteps pounded down the corridor and a tall, lanky figure smashed his way into the room so fast that he could barely stop his feet.

  “Lawrie?” Poppa asked, craning to see his son, “What’s up, son?”

  “Where’s Jeronomie?” Lawrence demanded, his face a picture of panic.

  Novel turned swiftly, as serious as he’d ever been, and put his hands on the tall boy’s shoulders. Lawrence looked to him at once, their eyes locking in silent understanding.

  “She’s sick, Monsieur,” Lawrence said. “She looks so weak and pale. I tried to help but, I… I couldn’t… I, please, I…”

  Tears fell before Lawrence could even choke out his last words. Poppa was on his feet with incredible power for a man of his years, and Novel passed the tearful son over to his father for comfort. The illusionist reached for Lily’s hand and the pair of them glided on hurried instinct towards the prop store conversion, where the sound of a weak little voice could already be heard calling out.

  “Hello?” Jazzy called. “Lawrence? Lily?”

  “I’m here, mate,” Lily said before she was even through the door.

  This was just as well, for when she beheld her
friend, it seemed as though all the words she knew had fallen out of her head. Jazzy’s dark skin, so rich in its usual coffee colour, was pallid and veiny. Lily had seen her the night before – they had watched Christmas Eve television together – and Jazzy had looked perfectly normal when she retired to bed that night. Now, she was a picture of mortal sickness, wheezing and spluttering as she reached weakly to take Lily’s hand. When Lily held her little fingers, a wrench of sadness twisted her gut to feel how frail her dear friend had become in just a matter of hours.

  “What could do this?” Lily demanded, looking back to Novel. “What could make her so sick in such a short space of time?”

  “Magic,” Novel answered grimly. “Can’t you feel it, in here with us this very moment?”

  Lily cleared her mind, inhaling deeply, and she looked around the room with a blank stare as she tried to feel for the hum of casting in the air. There was something subtle in the atmosphere, a tingle that set all the hairs on the back of her neck standing, and as Lily surveyed the space, her eyes fell to one spot in particular. In one corner of the room, a huge mirror stood reflecting over Jazzy’s bed. Lily saw herself and Novel, standing there dumbfounded, and she walked towards the mirror at a trancelike pace.

  “Lily, don’t-” Novel began.

  He reached for her arm and missed, and Lily came face to face with the massive mirror. She saw her own helpless reflection, and the form of her frail friend beyond her, and Lily looked deeply into the glass, hoping to see what truly lay beyond it.

  “The curse is spreading,” Lily said, echoing the agreement that had been made at the Solstice. “If this is the djinn’s next target, then the curse has to end. Jazzy’s suffered enough because of me.”

  Lily saw the frown of protest on her friend’s small face, the way Jazzy scrunched her button nose and shook her curly locks faintly. But when Lily turned away from the glass, she refused to meet Jazzy’s eyes to take in that forgiveness and sympathy. She looked to Novel instead, with steel in her gaze, clenching her fists so tightly that her nails dug tiny half-moons into her palms. Fire erupted around her, flames flickering and sparking as her muscles grew tense. When the bad luck had been all on her, Lily had found it frightening, but now that it threatened everyone else that she loved, she knew the meaning of real terror.

  “What do we do?” she demanded, her stare unwavering. “You said there would be a new plan, so what is it?”

  Novel nodded briskly, fingertips tracing the sharp lines of his chin.

  “We consult Miss Parnell, and raise Jazmine back to health these next few days,” he explained. “At first light on New Year’s Day, you and I are going to take a trip to meet some educated people. It’s already arranged.”

  From an inside pocket, Novel produced a slip of paper written in a long, slanted hand. He passed the curling scroll to Lily, who held it at arm’s length and studied the writing until she could make sense of the archaic old script.

  Dear Monsieur,

  We are delighted to accept your request to make visitation to the most ancient and hallowed settlement of Pendle on the first of January. Be assured that what you seek shall be provided in abundance.

  Regards,

  The Council of Pendle Shadefolk

  “Pendle?” Lily said, looking up from the letter. “But I thought that Pendle was just a hill? There isn’t actually a settlement anymore, is there?”

  Novel said nothing, and Lily perused the letter again. There must have been a town, otherwise she wouldn’t be holding a letter allowing her to visit it, and there was certainly a council of some sort in residence there. It had not yet occurred to Lily that a higher authority of shades might have existed, let alone that they’d welcome a request for help, or have a town of their very own to invite people to. Nevertheless, the prospect was inviting, and Lily felt a new glimmer of hope slowly growing as she looked from the letter to Jazzy in her bed. She sat down beside her friend, lifting the letter so that she could read it too.

  “You’re going to a town full of magic,” Jazzy wheezed, “you lucky git.”

  January

  The Booksmith

  “You want to go where, mate?” said the taxi driver, his mouth half-filled with a turkey and stuffing sandwich.

  “Pendle Hill, off Barley Lane,” Novel replied, leaning towards the cab’s frosted window. “You do know it, I presume?”

  “What d’you want to go up there for?” the cabby shot back loudly. “It’s bleedin’ freezin’ today!”

  Novel gave a deep sigh, and reached into the folds of his thick, dark overcoat to produce a large roll of banknotes. He waved them in front of the taxi driver, whose lined, confused face suddenly smoothed of all doubt as he beheld such a great deal of money.

  “Is this an interrogation,” Novel continued, “or would you care to take myself and my lady-friend to our destination now?”

  “Whatever you say, chuck,” the cabby answered, “just mind the door, will you? It was frozen shut this morning, had to de-ice it for a full hour. Bleedin’ New Year’s Day, I tell you…”

  The cabby was still talking incessantly as Novel boarded the back of the vehicle, turning to help Lily in behind him. She was bundled in several layers of winter clothes, with pink mittens that rendered her hands totally useless, and a matching hat which was constantly flopping down over her eyes. Even inside the taxi, the air had that biting quality that it could only ever possess in the English countryside, and she leaned on Novel until he wrapped both arms around her shoulders to help her keep warm.

  “Not pagans, are you?” the cabby asked in his constant stream of conversation. “We get a lot of pagans going up the hills this time of year.”

  Novel curled his lip irately, so Lily jumped in to answer before he got a chance.

  “Just a New Year’s Day walk,” she said as jovially as she could manage, “we’re mad for the fells.”

  “You’re just plain mad, if you ask me,” the driver answered with a chortle. “Catch your death up there, you will.”

  At this, Novel buried his head against Lily’s shoulder and gave a deep groan. She knew it was her fault that they had to travel the human way to Pendle Hill, after what Novel had told her about the windows being made with slices of air from the World of the Wish. Passing through the djinnkind’s world, even for a split second, wasn’t a good move with a powerful curse on your head. Lily certainly wasn’t in the mood to make things any worse for herself, or those around her. Jazzy was constantly on her mind, even though her friend had returned to health miraculously swiftly after her Christmas Day incident.

  The chair-bound girl seemed to be bright and sunny as ever when she’d waved them off on the train at Piketon Station early that morning. Now, they were travelling north from the station at Nelson by road, and the frozen hills and plains around them had an austere whiteness, like the whole of the countryside had been shot at with a freeze-ray, and fallen into stillness in an instant. The cabby was still talking, saying something about the local council refusing to rock-salt the country roads during the holidays, and Lily supposed that was the reason for the taxi’s slow, bumpy journey up into the Lancashire hills.

  When Pendle rose on the horizon, Lily felt a sting in her fluttering, frozen chest. The great sloping hill looked just as it had on the projector screen at Bradley’s first lecture, though now the grassy peak was blanketed in thick, white snow. There was little evidence of trees the farther up the slope Lily gazed, for the camouflage of frost and snowflakes had blended them perfectly into the hillside. Lily sucked in a shivering breath at the vast, bleak sight of Pendle Hill, hoping that the journey to the summit would not be as unpleasant as it looked.

  When Novel made his way out of the taxi the wind knocked him sideways, and Lily watched his long, black limbs as he spindled back towards the window to pay the driver. She was more prepared than the illusionist for the wind, forcing her head down and bracing against the mighty gusts that only northern weather could provide. The cabby abandoned th
em at the start of the walking trail that led to the hill itself, and Lily was sure she heard him tutting and laughing even as he sped off back toward civilisation.

  “Is it going to be this cold all the way?” Lily asked.

  She found herself shouting to be heard over the scream of the wind, and Novel moved closer, fishing for one of her mitten-clad hands. To Lily’s horror, he was taking the fluffy pink fabric away from her skin, and had pocketed the glove before she could protest. His pale, bare hand slipped into hers, and she watched the kindred flame ignite despite the horrendous winter weather. The flames warmed her instantly, and she looked up into Novel’s frosty gaze with new curiosity.

  “I don’t think I can control the weather on my own,” he confessed, close to her ear, “but ought we to try it together?”

  Lily nodded, turning to face the path ahead. She squeezed Novel’s hand tightly, looking into the wild wind that whipped tiny particles of snow all around them. Moments passed, and a warmth began to tingle in her blood beneath all the layers of her ensemble, then suddenly it was as though she was looking beyond the wind. The whistle of the elements dimmed its shrill cry, and with every step the kindred souls took forward, the weather began to soften and mould its way around them.

  “Marvellous,” Novel mused, giving Lily a surge of pride. “Onward to the gate, then.”

  Lily still didn’t see how a whole town could exist on the bleak and empty plain of Pendle Hill, but her last year learning the ways of the shadeborn had taught her to prepare for unexpected and incredible things. It was for this reason that she felt a little disappointed when, after twenty minutes’ trudging up the gradient of the hill, Novel suddenly stopped at a set of tiny grey milestones sunk deep into the ground. After the wonders of the windowmaker’s portals and the grand, flower-covered arch at Edvard’s funeral, the two tiny stumps of rock were something of an anti-climax.

  “This is it?” she asked, hoping that Novel had only paused to catch his breath.