The Potioneer (Shadeborn Book 3) Page 9

  “Would you die by the hand of your child?” he asked.

  And Salem only grinned. Lily stepped forward, away from her brace at the wall, willing her powers to surface and put some sort of barrier between father and son. Novel was burning up with his own fury, his face contorted with the strain of keeping control, and Lily could see him giving in to the power that wanted to explode from his seething blood.

  A strange light entered the foyer amid all the madness. It was golden, but a far lighter shade of gold than the archaic old picture frames or the fitments of the chandelier. It filtered through the room like a powder, sprinkling itself upon Novel, Lily and Salem especially. Salem fell to his knees, and seconds later he was sleeping with his face buried in the plush carpet. The flames around Novel died down and his face returned to its usual pallor, though his chest was still thumping as he looked around for the golden light’s source.

  As for Lily, she felt as though she’d been encased in a suit of armour. The magic of the golden light was nothing like the powerful support she’d felt from Novel earlier. It was more structured and difficult to adjust to, as though she was still the same weakened shade, simply being propped up by the strange, new power around her. She managed to leave her crutch at the wall and walked a few steps to stand beside Novel. They were both stoic and bemused when the golden light gathered in a bright and blinding flash.

  A woman stood before them, as though she had stepped straight out of the light-flash itself. She was clutching a fist at her chest which drew Lily’s eye, and when her hand unclasped the thing that she was holding, Lily beheld a golden locket in the shape of a playing card spade. It was as large as the woman’s ample hand, and it hung on a thick golden chain that travelled up over her ruffled blouse and tawny waistcoat. She had trousers and a cloak to match the ensemble, and atop her head was a dark brown hat with a brim that arced down on one side and rose up on the other.

  Between the locket and the shadow-casting hat, there was a face hardened by weather and work. The woman who had appeared in the foyer had eyes that gleamed like the darkest day of autumn, which were narrowed over Novel and Lily in a calculating appraisal. She rubbed at her nose, which was a little oversized, then ran a hand across her chin in the way that a man might have toyed with a stubbly shadow.

  “Well, didn’t I just turn up in the right place at the right time?” she asked.

  Her accent was rural, thick and American, and Lily felt for a moment as though she might be talking to someone that had stepped straight out of the Wild West. It was Novel who voiced his concern, as Lily stood rapt with fascination.

  “I demand to know how you entered this theatre, stranger,” Novel exclaimed. “No-one does so without my expressed permission.”

  “And I have it, Sir,” the woman replied.

  From the pocket of her waistcoat, the stranger pulled out a piece of paper. It was rolled in a scroll so tiny that it could have been tied to the leg of a bird, but the woman unfurled it again and again until it had expanded into a letter.

  “I believe you requested the services of a potioneer?” The woman extended a hand with her enquiry. “The name’s Jeronomie Parnell, and I’ll thank you for your politeness and courtesy from this moment forward, Monsieur.”

  Novel did not take the letter from her, for both he and Lily could already see it was his cursive writing on the page. Lily had never heard anyone scold Novel for his manners except for his mother, and the potioneer’s approach seemed to have the very same effect. Novel took Jeronomie’s hand and the pair shook strongly, each as tall and imposing as the other. Then Jeronomie looked down at the sleeping form on the carpet beneath their feet, indicating him with a nudge of her brown leather boot.

  “This gentleman appears to be fixing to kill himself,” she mused. “Would you like me to take a look at that issue whilst I’m here?”

  Novel sneered in the sleeping man’s direction.

  “If you have anything that will make him less of a nuisance, then please do,” the illusionist answered. “Money is no object to return peace and safety to this theatre.”

  The potioneer nodded, still looking at the prone figure as he snored away obliviously.

  “Might I ask his name?” she enquired.

  Novel’s lips were tight, as though he could barely stand any more conversation on the topic. Lily stepped up to join them, completing the triangle around the sleeping figure.

  “He’s Salem Cross,” she replied, “Lemarick’s father.”

  Jeronomie’s hardened features crumbled like ancient stone. Lily saw the change that overcame her as she continued to gaze upon Salem’s silent form. She looked hurt, and strangely disappointed, as though her heart had suddenly broken.

  “It’s sad, isn’t it?” Lily remarked. “He made the lightsider’s choice, and now he doesn’t want to go on without his shadepowers.”

  “A lightsider? I see,” Jeronomie answered. She swallowed so hard that the sound echoed in the room, then brushed down her waistcoat with several loud slaps. “Well, I might just have something for that. I presume you’re the lady that the main job is regarding?”

  “Yes,” Novel interjected. “It’s a mirror curse, and it needs… diluting, I suppose.”

  The intense compassion Jeronomie had felt for Salem’s story was absent from her face now that she appraised Lily. Instead, she looked thoughtful, a thousand clever things seemed to pulse behind her dark gaze, and she nodded a few times to herself, like she was having a marvellous conversation that nobody else could hear.

  “To work, then,” she surmised.

  She was off like a shot towards the door that led to the private quarters, and Novel followed her a few steps with a bemused sort of stutter.

  “Wouldn’t you like to be shown around?” he called after her retreating back.

  Jeronomie waved a hand over her shoulder.

  “It’s all right, Monsieur,” she replied, “My luggage is installing itself in your attic as we speak.”

  Lily and Novel stood and watched the potioneer vanish through the door, the only sound between them the gentle snores of the suicidal maniac on the carpet. Novel ran a hand through his pure white hair, then reached out to hook his arm around Lily’s waist. When he pulled her close, the armour-like magic of the potioneer fell away, and she sank into the comfort of his warm side, leaning all her weight on him.

  “It appears we’ve been invaded,” he said, sounding more than a little shocked.

  “She’s very no-nonsense,” Lily agreed, “I guess that means she thinks she can really help me.”

  Novel held her tighter and gave a brief nod.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “What did you mean when you said she couldn’t have got in here without your permission?” Lily asked.

  Novel looked down at her, his other hand rising to hold the tip of her chin, as he had so many times before.

  “It’s one of the many protections I placed upon the Imaginique when I bought it,” he explained. “That’s why I have to write the theatre tickets by hand. Otherwise, even the audience wouldn’t be able to pass through the entryway.”

  There was another question that Lily wanted to ask. Salem’s last words were still reverberating in her mind, filled with all the cruelty and malice of his withering look before he dropped to the floor in Jeronomie’s magic light. Remember what happened last time, Lemarick.

  The discovery of Baptiste and the feedings had already told Lily that the man she loved kept secrets from her, and now there was yet another skeleton lurking in his closet. If the last few months of questioning and investigating had taught Lily anything, it was that Lemarick Novel’s secrets were only revealed when he chose to let them out. She remained silent in his arms and soaked in the warmth of his embrace, resigning herself to the thought that whatever was yet to come in their torrid future, it would have to come when she was recovered, and strong enough to face it.

  December

  Idle Hands

  By the time th
e freezing snap of December’s air had permeated the ancient walls of the Theatre Imaginique, Jeronomie Parnell was an indispensable powerhouse in the troupe’s daily life. No-one had realised that the potioneer would wish to actually live in the theatre during her time of employ, but no-one complained when she set up her bed, workbench and numerous piles of books in the attic space of the highest floor. No-one, that is, apart from Dharma Khan.

  “What am I supposed to do for rehearsals?” she demanded one night at dinner. “The woman has filled the space with all her cauldrons and dolls and jars, and she keeps locking the door when she’s not in there! I didn’t even know the attic door had a lock.”

  Novel, who always took breakfast at the time when others ate dinner, chewed a slice of bacon thoughtfully. Dharma was waiting for her answer, and Lily knew that Novel would have no choice but to give it when he’d swallowed his current mouthful. The shade seemed to be making that mouthful last for as long as possible before he was drawn into the siren’s haughty argument.

  “And,” Dharma began again, enraged by her own impatience, “the woman has simply wretched manners. She keeps making remarks, as though she thinks I’m lazy! Lazy! Me!”

  Lily, who watched the whole tirade from Novel’s left, gave Dharma a sympathetic nod. In truth, she was fairly certain that if Dharma was asked to list her hobbies, they wouldn’t stretch far beyond lounging, gossiping and trying on dresses, but she did think that the siren had a right to do whatever she wanted with her time. Dharma’s furious gaze was still locked on Novel, who had finished his bacon and quickly put a glass of water to his lips rather than use them to speak.

  “It’s only temporary,” Lily interjected, reaching out to pat one of Dharma’s sharp-nailed hands gently, “and you can use the whole stage to rehearse if you like, we’ve all promised to keep away and respect your privacy.”

  Dharma sniffed indignantly, and finally stopped scrutinizing Novel. She smiled at Lily warmly, sandwiching her hand between her own.

  “Wise words, sweetheart. Maybe you ought to be managing this place.”

  Since his tantrum in the foyer, it was clear that Novel was making a deliberate attempt to curb his temper. At Dharma’s jibe, he lowered his gaze to his plate and continued to eat in silence, until he was only pushing a solitary fried tomato around the rim of the dish. It was into this tense scene that Jeronomie Parnell burst, full of vivacious energy that she first expressed with a loud clap as she entered the kitchen.

  “Whew, that was a hard day’s brewing, I tell you,” the potioneer surmised. “I think I’ve got the first batch of something ready for you to try, Miss Lily.”

  “Oh great,” Lily answered brightly, “well, thank you. Sit down, please, you must be exhausted.”

  The imposing woman waved a hand, which was becoming an ever-familiar gesture.

  “No, no, I only came to see if your sweet little Lady Eva wanted me to wash the dishes up again after supper. Gotta keep busy. You know what they say about idle hands.”

  Lily didn’t miss the look that Jeronomie gave to Dharma at the last remark. Dharma stood and stormed from the room immediately, her silky black robes billowing at funny angles that made her look like an irate jellyfish. She couldn’t have been more different from the rough and tough woman who was now making her way to the table, and Lily could hardly imagine that women like Jeronomie and Dharma would ever be friends in any situation. Jeronomie didn’t seem disturbed in the least that she’d upset Dharma, and she went about the business of depositing a small vial of pale blue liquid on the table in front of Novel.

  “For your inspection, Sir,” she said brusquely. “Administer it to your young lady-friend as you please.”

  The potioneer began work at the sink of dirty dishes as she’d promised, but Lily could see the corner of her vision was still trained on the table. Novel picked up the small vial and tipped the liquid to and fro before his eyes, then he took out the little cork stopper, and gave the potion a sniff.

  “Tell me again what this potion’s supposed to do,” he asked.

  Jeronomie was animated in her reply, and soap suds flew everywhere as she gestured with great gusto.

  “My speciality is in magic that produces invisibility,” she explained, “what you have in your hands, is a potion that reduces the visibility of another person when they’re seen through a pane of glass.”

  “So if they were on the other side of a window, you wouldn’t see them?” Lily asked.

  Jeronomie pointed, and suds flew just centimetres short of Lily’s face.

  “Bingo, my dear.”

  “And would you be offended if I sampled this batch before a proper dose was given to Lily?” Novel asked.

  He looked curious, but tense as ever. Jeronomie heaved a little irate sigh, but she nodded all the same.

  “I reckon I wouldn’t expect any less of someone in your position, Monsieur. The House of Novel ain’t famed for being trusting.”

  Novel only nodded at that, and he raised the little vial of liquid to his lips. Lily felt a stab at her heart, just in case there was something dangerous in the bottle, but when Novel had drained its contents entirely, he did not convulse or grab at his throat. Instead he licked his lips once, and picked up the empty water glass from the table.

  “Go on then,” he said, offering the glass to Lily, “let’s see if it works.”

  Lily took the glass and turned it over a few times in her palms. Then, she lifted it like a telescope and put it to one eye, closing the other as she focused on looking straight down through the glass. Where Novel had been sitting, there was only the distorted shape of a strange black shadow. It sort of looked like a person, but Lily wasn’t entirely sure. When she pulled her eye away from the glass, however, she saw that Novel was still sitting before her, and she checked through the scope again to ensure that he turned into shadows the moment he was behind the pane.

  “That’s amazing,” she exclaimed.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Jeronomie said with a proud nod. “My thinking is, so long as the creature remains on the other side of the glass, he ain’t gonna be able to target you so specifically with his ill luck.”

  “We’ll begin treatment at once,” Novel said approvingly. “If you’d be so kind as to bring Lily a regular supply?”

  “Can do, Sir,” the potioneer answered.

  She turned her back fully then, attention restored to the dishes. Lily was still playing with the glass scope, lifting it to see Novel transform to a black blur, then reappear before her. For the first time in weeks, the haunting words of the djinn beyond the mirror didn’t strike quite so much fear into her heart, and she felt a great deal safer than she had before Jeronomie entered the theatre.

  “This potioneer magic’s great,” she said, raising the scope to her eye once more. “Why don’t you use it all the time?”

  There was a pause, and it was just long enough for Jeronomie’s neck to stiffen a little.

  “I have my reasons,” answered the shade among the shadows.

  Family Histories

  “She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Jazzy said, in a voice that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a swoon.

  As much as Lily was grateful for Jeronomie – she hadn’t had a near-fatal accident now in almost two weeks – she was starting to feel as though the potioneer was all anyone at the Imaginique talked about. The bold, brash American had become this instant presence in everyone’s lives, ingratiating herself with Eva in the kitchen and providing little salves and treatments to Zita and the Slovak twins, who were regularly seen waiting patiently outside the attic door for her advice.

  “She’s like a doctor, but better,” Jazzy continued, “she helps with all sorts of things. She even gave Lawrence this cream that protects his feet when he walks on hot coals.”

  “I’m not using it!” Lawrence insisted quickly. “That would be cheating. Poppa’s voodoo is what takes the pain away.”

  Jazzy gave him a little knowing look, but said nothing. The three student
s were back at university, where Lily had caught up on the majority of her classes ready for mock examinations, just before the Christmas break. The trio were seated in the cafeteria, at the very same table where Molly had saved Lily from her choking fit, but now Lily was eating a sausage roll coated in flaky pastry without any fear of danger. She felt as though a sense of normality and peace was finally returning to her life, and if the price for that was having to hear about the wonders of Saint Jeronomie all day, every day, then maybe that was just a price she’d have to pay.

  “She’s even helping me,” Jazzy revealed with a proud little grin.

  Lily quirked a brow.

  “Helping you with what exactly?” she asked.

  Jazzy leaned closer. She had taken her spectacles off, since looking at Lily through the glass lenses had become difficult due to the invisibility potion, and now her eyes were huge and brown like those of a hopeful puppy. She spoke in a quiet but enthused voice, her gaze gleaming with pride.

  “She’s helping me control my Second Sight.”

  Lawrence, as usual, was the first to raise the alarm. Even though he and Jazzy had never fully admitted to being an item, he took her hand in his whenever concern burned in his heart. This was one of those times, and Lily watched his tattooed fingers intertwining with Jazzy’s as he spoke gently to her ear.

  “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about that,” he urged, “Monsieur Novel said so. You know how special your blood is to some people out there.”

  “But she’s helped so many of you already in a few weeks,” Jazzy explained, “and she said her speciality was invisibility, so I thought she might be able to help me make the people I see disappear.”