Chapter 35

C HAPTER 35

Returning to Evermore's estate seemed to take less time, or perhaps Cordelia simply slept through it. She couldn't believe that anyone in that much pain could sleep, let alone on horseback, but she was simply done in. Evangeline rode before her, so all she had to do was wrap her arms around her mother's waist and rest her head between her mother's shoulder blades. It wasn't good sleep, but it was better than being conscious.

Dozing like that woke a memory of being very young, too young to sleep apart. She remembered the feel of the sheets and the lumps of the down pillow, but mostly she remembered the smell of her mother's skin.

The same smell was in her nostrils when she lifted her head, thinking that she'd heard someone call her name. They were in the woods again and it was dark, but Falada did not let leaves slap Evangeline in the face. He picked his way to the edge of the wood and Cordelia saw a streak of light across the edge of the sky, yellowish as a fading bruise. Below them, lanterns moved across the lawn and the garden, swinging in the hands that carried them.

"Good," her mother murmured. "They're making this easy for us."

Cordelia was about to ask how when she heard her name again, thinly, being shouted in the distance. "Cordelia…? Are you there…?"

"Down you get," her mother said, sliding off Falada herself. "That's Evermore nearest us. Now call his name, and make it convincing."

"I… uh…" Cordelia wondered what would happen if she screamed "Run away!"

He wouldn't listen. No one ever listens when you shout something like that. They just come running to see what you've done to yourself.

Her mother narrowed her eyes. Cordelia gulped. "Richard!" she shouted, hoping that using his first name would tip him off that something was wrong. "Richard, I'm here!"

The bobbing lantern turned their way. "Cordelia!? Is that you?"

Cordelia closed her eyes. Here it is, the only brave thing I'll ever do… " Don't come any closer! " she shouted. " Mother's here— "

Her mouth snapped shut so quickly that she bit her tongue. Blood filled her mouth and she couldn't spit it out. Couldn't do anything at all, but stand there, tasting copper and salt.

"I'm not surprised," her mother said. "Disappointed, but not surprised." She shook her head and clucked her tongue. "Really, Cordelia. You might have at least thought this through." She took out the penknife and pressed it into Cordelia's palm. "We'll discuss your behavior later."

Cordelia's body turned and stumbled toward Evermore. The wound on her leg cracked open and she could feel it leaking down her calf. "I'm so sorry," she called, her voice much too giddy. "I didn't mean to make everyone worry. I think I must have been sleepwalking. I've had the most dreadful nightmare."

Evermore halted and set down the lantern. His gaze flicked past her, to the edge of the woods. "Ah," he said.

Can he see Falada? Did he hear me warning him?

"I feel terrible for putting everyone through so much trouble," her voice prattled on. She felt her fingers clench on the knife.

And then—

Cordelia?

Penelope! She screamed the name inside her head, hoping that it was loud enough to hear. Can you hear me? You have to warn Evermore! I've got a knife and Mother's in control of my body and she's going to stab him!

I hear you, but I can't warn Evermore. He can't hear me. There's all these things on you, like ropes. Is that the spell?

It must be! Can you do something?

I don't know. I'm not sure I can—oh shit, she's right there, she'll see me—

Cordelia's mind echoed with a scream she couldn't voice. No! Penelope, don't run away! You have to stop me!

Her body drew closer to Evermore. He turned his head and called "I found her!" to someone closer to the house, then turned back to her. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Of course," she said, smiling. Surely blood had to be leaking out of her mouth. Surely he must see that something was wrong. "It was just a nightmare." She took another step forward.

Cinnamon flooded her sinuses. I'm trying to grab the ropes but they're like glue. You have to fight it!

Fight it? How did you fight something like this?

I fought back! She wanted me to stab him too and I wouldn't! You can too!

Evermore's eyebrows drew down and his mouth opened in surprise, but it was too little, too late.

Fight it! Penelope screamed in her head. Fight back! It's your body, not hers!

But it is hers, Cordelia thought miserably, lifting the knife. She made it. She made me just like she made Falada, and she's used my body whenever it was convenient. I've only been allowed to have it because she lets me.

You are not Falada!

Each word struck her like a blow, directly in the chest, where all her fear and hope and terror lived.

She was not Falada.

Falada had been her creature and when Cordelia had trusted him, he had gleefully betrayed that trust. But Hester and Imogene and Penelope had trusted Cordelia, and she had not betrayed them.

Even when her mother had gripped her chin and stared in her eyes and demanded truth, she had not betrayed her friends.

I am not Falada.

I am not her creature.

I do not belong to her.

The knife rose and Cordelia felt her muscles straining under her mother's hand, eager to plunge it into Evermore's throat. She knew that she could not turn it completely, but she threw every ounce of strength she had into lifting too far, too fast, and when it snapped forward, she turned her wrist.

Even that motion felt as if she had set her shoulder to a mountain, but the knife missed his throat. Instead the blade skidded upward. Too slow, Evermore threw up a hand. The tip tore a line across Evermore's cheekbone and into his hair before he knocked it aside.

Blood poured down his face in a sudden torrent, just as it had from Old Bernard's. He grabbed her wrists— Oh sure, now you do it, now that I've already stabbed you —and stared at her, blinking red out of his eyes. "Why?" he asked, sounding not so much mortally injured as baffled.

"Because it's not her, you idiot!" Hester shouted, stomping across the lawn. "It's her mother controlling her! I told you—oh dear god, Richard, your face !"

I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I did the best I could! Cordelia's body stood motionless, not fighting the grip at all.

I know you did. I saw you.

"Damn it all," her mother said from the edge of the wood. Her tone was mild and slightly exasperated. "I suppose if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself."

Hester had been waiting with Imogene on the stone patio—the same one, ironically, where they had been sitting when Falada at tacked. Imogene had convinced her, barely, that she would be better off leaving the search to people with functional knees, but she didn't have to like it.

The moment that she heard Cordelia call Richard's name, though, she snatched up her cane and bolted. Imogene had gone in to get tea, and a moment later she heard her friend calling after her, but she was already hobbling as quickly as she could toward Richard.

That isn't Cordelia. Cordelia never calls you anything but Lord Evermore.

She cast around desperately for another search party, but there were none nearby. Most of them had concentrated on the back of the property, near where the gamekeeper had been found. Blast. Hold on, Richard, the cavalry is coming as fast as it can…

She arrived just in time to see Cordelia slap at him and to see him grab her wrists in turn. It wasn't until she drew abreast of him that she realized it hadn't been a mere slap.

Dear god, there was so much blood. She yanked off her shawl and pressed it against the side of his face, trying to stem the flow.

And then the voice of Doom tolled across the grass like a bell.

"I suppose now that you're both here, it'll be easier," she said. "Hester, I'll need you to stab Lord Evermore."

Hester spat the filthiest word she knew in Doom's direction.

Evangeline rolled her eyes and thrust out her hand, and Hester's world turned the color of pain.

It came from everywhere, burrowing into her skin like shards of glass. It was a sea of agony, and she was drowning in it. She went to one knee, clutching her cane to keep from falling full length on the ground. She did not scream—she had always been too proud, even now that she had so little left to be proud of—but her breath went out in a long hiss and it was gruelingly hard to draw the next one.

"Meddling old spinster," said Evangeline, turning away. She frowned at Cordelia. "Is this who you want to replace me with? These useless old women? This is how you repay me, for all that I've done for you?"

Cordelia could not have replied, even if she wanted to. Her jaws were locked tight, and her muscles shook with strain, but under that, she felt triumph.

For an instant, when her mother had turned and thrown magic at Hester, the obedience had slipped. Not completely, not enough for her to run away, but just enough for her to open her fingers, sending the knife clattering into the ground. In her head, Penelope crowed with delight.

Evermore dropped Cordelia's wrists. She doubted he'd even realized that she'd dropped the knife. " Hester! Hester, love—" He grabbed for the kneeling woman's shoulders, missed, and crumpled to the ground as Evangeline flung a hand at him.

The honking of outraged geese suddenly filled the air. A heavy body landed on the grass, then another, both birds hissing in rage but not quite daring to approach.

"Ughh," Evangeline muttered, massaging her temples. " Why does nothing ever go smoothly? Cordelia, finish the job."

Cordelia's body marched toward the downed pair, lifted a fist—and stabbed down with knifeless fingers, hitting Evermore's shoulder blade.

Evangeline let out a short scream of frustrated rage, like a hawk that had struck for prey and missed. " Really!? "

She's trying to do too much! Penelope said, her mental voice breathless with excitement. She did something to both of them, but it's like she's running out of ropes. There's fewer on you now, too.

Cordelia tried to fight back against the obedience and actually managed to take two steps away from Evermore. Her mother snarled and the obedience tightened on her again. "Where is that damn knife?"

Of course, Cordelia thought, almost dreamily. If she wants to make it look as if Hester stabbed Evermore, she can't just have Falada trample them.

I'd rather no one got stabbed or trampled. I have decided that the fashion this season is for being flung off balconies, thank you very much.

Evangeline froze abruptly. "What is that?" she hissed. "Is that you, Cordelia?" She spun in a circle. "Something's here. I feel you. Are you another sorcerer?"

I think she finally noticed me.

Cordelia flung herself against the bonds of obedience again. Her mother shook her head like a horse trying to rid itself of a fly. "What—how—no, I killed you, I know I killed you—"

Something moved behind Evangeline. Cordelia jerked her chin up an inch, trying to see.

"You think a little pain is going to stop me?" rasped Hester, and brought her cane down on the back of Cordelia's mother's head.

Cordelia's muscles went slack as the obedience broke. She managed to keep from falling on either her mother or Hester, but only just.

"You hurt?" asked Hester gruffly.

"Yes," said Cordelia honestly, "but it doesn't matter. We have to get out of here now. Before—"

Falada erupted from the trees, accompanied by the screams of geese. Cordelia spun around, saw the headless horse charging her, knocking birds out of the way like matchsticks. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hester lift her cane, standing over Evermore like a protective bird herself.

This is it, Cordelia thought. He tramples everyone but Mother and me. She might have had something fancy planned, framing Hester for murder, but it's just going to be hooves.

She stepped in front of Hester and Evermore, wondering how long she could keep them safe.

And then a voice, familiar but deathly cold, said, "Horse, I know you understand me. Stop where you are, or I cut her throat."

Between one stride and the next, Falada stopped. His hooves tore great gouts out of the turf and his hindquarters dropped nearly to the ground. Geese shouted and honked, rising to their feet. The short-legged gander was up immediately, hissing like a cobra.

Lady Strauss crouched over the unconscious form of Evangeline, holding a large pair of scissors to her throat. Cordelia recognized it absently as the one from Hester's embroidery basket. Imogene's breath was coming in ragged pants and her hair had come out of its bun and fallen into her eyes, but the scissors didn't waver. "That's right," she said to Falada. "Back up. Everyone else is too damn decent, but I'll kill her with a glad heart. Back up."

Falada retreated, step by step, to the edge of the woods.

"What happened?" asked Evermore groggily. Hester wiped at the blood on his face and made an unhappy sound.

"Evangeline took over Cordelia and stabbed you, then hit you with… I don't know what that was. Very unpleasant, if it was anything like mine." Her voice dropped. "Now she's unconscious, Imogene's got a knife to her neck, and we're trying to figure out what to do next."

"Why don't we just kill her now?" asked Imogene. "We'll throw her in a well and say she never arrived here at all." She looked from face to face. "If you're all too squeamish, I'm certainly not."

"Because we don't know what kind of spells she's got on my brother now!" Hester snapped. "Believe me, I'd put a knife across her throat myself if I knew I could do it safely. But I don't want my brother turning out like Parker, and if that means her magic has to be broken before we kill her, that's what we're going to do!"

"I believe we shall have to do the ritual again," said Willard. He looked immaculate despite the hour, and despite having sprinted across the lawn toward them. Alice, beside him, was staring round-eyed at everyone. "I suggest we do it as soon as possible, in fact. Before the lady wakes up."

"We don't have anyone to stand as wine," said Richard. He clutched Hester's shawl to the side of his face, the cloth already turning scarlet. "We can't do it unless someone can be wine."

They looked at each other helplessly, and then Penelope said, I can.

"It'll kill you!" protested Cordelia. "You said it felt like you were being washed away!"

It can't kill me, I'm already dead. Maybe it'll just send me where I'm supposed to be.

"But—"

Look, I never did anything noble while I was alive. I was vain and shallow and exceedingly lazy. I might as well take one last stab at it.

"Cordelia?" said Hester. "Who are you talking to?"

Oh hell. "Penelope's ghost," said Cordelia. She held up a hand. "I know. I know. It's… look, I wanted to tell you but then I thought she hadn't followed us and we were so busy looking through the books and then she was here but then Falada dug himself up and there's… there's been a lot going on…" She trailed off, aware of how weak that sounded.

"I'd like to yell," said Imogene, "but this hardly seems like the time, does it?" She grimaced. "Willard, can you take the scissors? My hand is getting a cramp."

"Certainly, Lady Strauss."

"And promise you'll kill her. No gallantry, now."

"Madam." He frowned at her. "I am a butler. Do you truly believe that I do not know how to dispatch a houseguest if required?"

Imogene grinned, looking shockingly feral. "I always liked you, Willard. Now, as for ghosts…" She shook out her hand, turning to Cordelia. "Are you sure it's really Penelope?"

Cordelia listened for a moment, then said, "Uh… she says to remind you of what she told you on your wedding night about the—"

" Right, " said Imogene hastily.

Tell them , said Penelope. I can do it.

Please.

Cordelia swallowed. "She says she can do the wine part of the ritual."

"Do it soon," said Willard. "I believe Lady Evangeline's starting to come around."

"Already?" Imogene bared her teeth. "Hit her again."

"It might kill her."

Imogene looked ready to argue. Willard frowned, then closed his hand over Evangeline's throat. His lips moved as if he was counting to himself. When he reached twenty, he released his hold and Evangeline sagged, her face flushing bright red.

"You have some very unusual skills," Lord Evermore observed, slightly muffled by the bloody shawl.

"As I said, I am a butler. Now, may I suggest that you perform this ritual immediately?" asked Willard. "I do not know how long I can prolong her unconsciousness without causing serious damage."

"But we can't perform it," said Imogene. "We don't have the circle and the symbols and the triangles and all that."

She doesn't need it. They don't do anything. They aren't real. No more than any other drawing, anyway. And the church didn't have them.

"But we don't have a church either!" said Imogene, when Cordelia relayed this. "We need holy ground. That's how it works. "

"No." Cordelia pinched the bridge of her nose. "No, it's not. You said it yourself, ages ago. You said that maybe holy ground was only holy because people believe in it."

Imogene's angular face drew into sharper lines as she frowned. "I suppose I might have said that, but—"

"The lines don't do anything." Cordelia waved her hands, trying to get the words out. "They're just there to make you believe they do something. You believe in it the way you believe in holy ground, because they're all twisty and impressive, but that's all they do. I didn't feel them do anything and Penelope didn't feel it and Falada laughed when he saw us drawing them!"

"So we need to find a church?" said Hester.

" No! " It was so clear to her but she didn't know how to make them understand. "You just have to believe this is holy ground! Right here! Or magic or consecrated, whatever you want, just believe it!"

They all stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Penelope says I'm right," she said weakly, quailing under the weight of all those looks.

"We can't all just believe something on command," said Imogene.

"The hell we can't!" Hester snapped. She wheeled on Imogene. "You've seen sorcery and a dead horse walking and you felt the magic when we did it earlier, and this is where you draw the line? That this ground isn't holy enough?"

Imogene swallowed. "Well," she said. "When you put it like that, I guess…"

"You all believed my mother was a lady," said Cordelia. "There was no proof of any of it. You just believed it and you introduced her to other people that way and that made it true. It's all the same!"

Hester nodded. "Alice, bring us water."

"But miss, I don't have a bucket or—"

"Soak your skirt in the lake. We don't need much, but we don't have time. Run. "

Alice sprinted.

"We also don't have any wine," said Imogene. "Do we have time to get it?"

Evangeline mumbled something, her eyelids fluttering.

"No," Willard said.

"Don't you tell me you don't have a flask of brandy on you, Imogene," Hester said. "I've known you too long."

"Brandy isn't—no, wait, I suppose it is wine, isn't it? Wine that's, err, gotten ambition." Imogene laughed, half-incredulous. "It'll do." She handed it to Cordelia.

"Can you see this?" Cordelia asked the air above her, dumping brandy into her palm.

I can't—no, wait! Yes! There! I can see it!

"Cor… del…?" Her mother shifted. Willard tightened his hold.

"I suggest that you do not move, madam," he said.

"My… head…"

Cackling alerted them to Falada shifting position again. "Don't do it, horse," called Imogene.

"Salt," muttered Hester. "Salt, salt, how do we…"

"Don't worry about that," said Imogene, with another feral grin. "We're all full of it."

"What?"

Alice returned, holding a bundle of sodden fabric. Her undershift, Cordelia thought. She dropped it into Hester's hands with a wet splat.

Cordelia passed the flask to Alice. "Pour this into your hands," she said. "A little at a time. And don't drop it."

Alice met her eyes, and Cordelia was struck by the memory of the older girl saying "It will be all right."

It will, she thought. But only if we can make it so. Right here, right now.

She drew a deep breath and began to speak.

By my knowledge and my will

By water, wine, and salt…

Hester squeezed water from the cloth into her mouth, and the water-note rang out, loud and clear, filling the space around them.

In the name of Hermes Trismegistus…

Crimson bloomed on Imogene's face as she bit savagely into her own lower lip. Cordelia remembered the taste of salt in her own mouth. Would it be right? Was it enough for alchemy?

Apparently it was, or perhaps more than the sigils was based on belief. The salt-note came in, thin at first, but gaining strength, echoing off the water-note, the two of them a harmony that grew louder, calling for the third.

Let gold return to base metal…

She waited for the wine-note in hope and dread. Perhaps a ghost couldn't do it. Perhaps brandywine wasn't enough. Perhaps Penelope had thought better of things and fled.

And then Alice jerked, as if someone had grabbed her outstretched hand, and the wine-note flooded the air around them, so loud and so strong that it drowned out not just sounds but smells and colors and the feeling of the grass under Cordelia's knees.

Let all that glitters fade away…

Water, wine, and salt came together in a harmony that spiraled outward and became a whirlwind. Cordelia could feel that wind pulling at her, stripping away things that she hadn't known were there, as if it sought to refine her down to her very essence, or possibly just down to bone.

"No," said a small voice in the center of the maelstrom. Her mother, struggling to lift her head. Willard was a shadow behind her, his knife hand slack as he battled to keep his own footing in the storm.

"By my knowledge and my will," Cordelia repeated. "By water, wine, and salt."

" No! " Evangeline thrust out her hands toward her daughter. Her voice was a harsh croak. "Stop! He's too close! You're going to unmake it all!"

"In the name of Hermes Trismegistus—"

"I won't be able to hold him!"

"Let gold return to base metal—"

Her mother lunged. Willard grabbed for her shoulders, too late. Evangeline's eyes blazed the blue of the hottest part of the flame and she flung herself at Cordelia, reaching for her daughter in a parody of an embrace.

It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. That must have been the wind, drowning out pain as effectively as everything else.

Cordelia wrapped her arms around her mother. She could smell that scent again, her mother's skin, unforgettable. Perhaps she was very small again. Perhaps the wind had washed away the last fourteen years and they could start again.

It was a pleasant thought. She held it for a moment, then let it tumble away into the roaring of the whirlwind. Not even alchemy could change the past.

" He'll kill us, " Evangeline wailed.

Cordelia turned her head so that her lips were close to her mother's ear, and whispered, "Let all that glitters fade away."

In the last instant before the wind tore away consciousness as well, she heard a voice say, Tell everyone goodbye.