Chapter 2 Seraphine

Chapter 2 Seraphine

In the distance, the Aurore Tower stood like a proud candle casting its flickering light over the city. It was not wise to stray too far from its glare, but the glow of the Aurore never reached the Hollows, a murky pocket of east Fantome where the wretched and the forgotten made their home: thieves and troublemakers, beggars and brutes, creeps and carousers, and the orphans and runaways who came looking for a better life.

For there was magic there, too.

And, with any luck, Pippin's keen nose would lead them to it. Sera ran faster.

As the clock tower chimed one, Mama's voice rang in her head. If anything ever happens to me, you must get to House Armand. Brave the Hollows and run until the streetlamps wink out. Pippin will show you the way.

But Pippin had stopped to inspect a leaf.

Sera used to wonder why Mama had so readily taken in the trembling three-legged mutt five years ago. She was far from being a dog person. Or a people person, for that matter. And back then, the poor mite was so easily frightened that he barked at his own shadow. But Mama knew before his accident Pippin had been a tracker. He had a nose for magic. And a knack for survival.

Seraphine wondered now if Mama had foreseen her own grisly murder. Sylvie Marchant was neither Cloak nor Dagger, but for years, she had worked as a Shade smuggler alongside the guilds, trading magic for coin, and in doing so, dwelling in the murky haze between good and evil. All to provide a better life for Sera.

Shade was as scarce as it was dangerous. Sniffed out by tracking dogs far beyond the city, it was bought by seasoned smugglers like Sylvie Marchant, who knew precisely how to mix it, and then sold on to the few who knew how to use it without succumbing to it: the Daggers and the Cloaks. Sera always secretly feared the underworld would turn on them. After all, what honour was there among thieves and assassins?

But why now? The question nagged at Sera. And why the fire?

Perhaps Mama always knew that one day their world would go up in flames, and Pippin would be all Sera had left. Maybe that was why she hosed him down and put a bow around his neck five years ago, presenting him to Sera like he was the second coming of Saint Oriel.

Sera had adored him instantly.

She clicked her teeth now, shooing him along. The sight of his burnt tail wagging as he led her through the deserted streets filled her heart with so much love it felt like pain. His little legs quickened as they neared the Hollows, the scent of Shade getting stronger.

Tucked away in the far reaches of the Hollows, House Armand was home to the clandestine Order of Cloaks. The great thieves of Fantome were always seeking to recruit lost souls tempted by the security of a comfortable home and the lure of magic, the chance to make something of themselves.

Tonight, the Cloaks were in luck. Sera was about to deliver them a fresh recruit and the cutest mutt this side of the Verne. All she had to do was remain in possession of her courage long enough to get there.

Don't stop. Don't think.

She kept a wary eye on the shadows as they ventured deeper into the Hollows. Seedy taverns and dilapidated theatres huddled along narrow streets that were strewn with broken bottles and other detritus, the well-worn cobblestones cracked and stained with vomit. Sera reminded herself that this was not Dagger territory, but she couldn't shake the sense that she was being followed.

That he was out there somewhere, watching her.

Pippin halted, a growl rumbling in his throat. His gaze darted from the roof of a nearby boarding house to the dimly lit brothel beside it. Sera gripped the rusty blade in her pocket as a shiver spider-walked her spine. She wished she had brought something sharper, but almost everything had been burning. She'd had to settle for Mama's small garden shears.

Pippin barked at a flitting shadow.

Sera brandished the shears. ‘Come out and face me!'

The air trilled with distant laughter. At the end of the street, three women stumbled out of a busy tavern. A dishevelled man hobbled past, his brown eyes tired.

Not a Dagger.

Sera let out a breath, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

But Pippin's hackles were still up.

Another shadow flitted on the brothel roof. Sera grabbed an empty flowerpot from a nearby windowsill and flung it at the slats. It sailed through the dark, before striking the roof and smashing into pieces.

She was certain she heard a low chuckle.

Her heart galloped as she hurried on, to where the streets grew quiet and the lanterns winked out. ‘Follow the hedgerows,' she muttered, mentally tracing the map that used to hang on her bedroom wall.

Pippin darted ahead, tracking a scent until, at last, they came to a leafy hedge. It climbed inwards from the street, then pitched up towards the sky, where it sprawled into a mass of creeping vines that wrapped themselves around an enormous shape. In the dark, it looked to Sera like a very grand mansion. Or rather, the space where a very grand mansion might have been, if there was anything there at all.

Which was exactly what she was looking for.

After all, House Armand was cloaked. The stonework had been coated in Shade, made to melt in with the dark. She could make out the vines that hugged the house, but the windows and the front door were hidden from her.

See where the shadows ripple like drapes swaying in the breeze , whispered Mama's voice in her head. For a moment, she felt so close, Sera turned around and tried to pull Mama from the dark… but there was nothing behind her, just a whisper of tumbling leaves, the quiet patter of falling rain, and—

Shit. A pair of quicksilver eyes halfway down the street. The tell-tale sign of a Dagger. This time, when Sera grabbed Pippin, he didn't fight. She sprinted along the hedge, desperately searching for a way in. Finally, she found a gap. Then—a gate! She shoved it open and slammed it behind her, her fingers trembling as she set the catch. It was absurd to think a gate would keep a Dagger out but Sera hoped he wouldn't readily breach Cloak territory by crossing the boundary into House Armand.

That was, by all accounts, against the rules.

Wayward twigs stroked her cheeks as she hurried down the overgrown path. Still, there was no door. No windows. No house.

‘Come on,' she muttered, panic thick in her throat. ‘I need a door.'

Patience, Sera. The light will come.

When the moon emerged from behind a thicket of clouds, she tracked a slant of light to where it bounced off a drainpipe. The shadows were rippling. For a moment, the glamour broke and she glimpsed a window. And behind it, a face peering out at her.

‘Help! Please!' She paced up and down, tracking every trickle of moonlight until one fell upon a large brass doorknocker. Sera lunged before it disappeared and rapped three times. ‘Hello? Can anyone hear me?'

After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, and the shadows that had been cloaking House Armand parted to reveal a frightfully pale old woman dressed in black. She was small and stooped, with milky blue eyes and a wrinkled, scowling face.

She took a long look at Sera, then croaked, ‘ No .'

‘But—' The door slammed in Sera's face. Then disappeared entirely.

‘Wait! Come back!' Pippin barked raucously, but the old woman was gone. Sera whirled around, desperate. The moon had deserted them. Somewhere nearby, she could hear the creaking of a gate.

No. No way. She had come too far to give up now. Her heart thundered as she hurried around the side of the house. She followed the vines until she came to another gate that appeared to lead into a back garden. It was locked. She kicked it until it buckled, managing to squeeze through the narrow gap.

Around the back of the house, in the absence of moonlight, she grabbed a fistful of stones from a nearby flowerbed and began hurling them into the darkness.

The first three landed with dull thunk s – stone on stone. The next four got lost in the vines, making no sound at all. And then, just when she was about to give up, she heard a satisfying plink! A window. She fired off three more in the same direction.

Plink! Plink! Plink!

Before she could ready her next assault, there came a nearby whoosh! The back door to House Armand swung open and a shaft of golden light slipped out. She sprinted towards it.

‘Sanctuary!' The word burst from her like a cry. ‘I've come to plead for sanctuary!'

This time, a different woman occupied the doorframe. She was impossibly tall and slender, with deep brown skin and keen brown eyes. Her black hair was cropped close to her head and despite the late hour, her lips were painted a deep glittering red. She wore a trailing green robe, tied with a silk sash, and she smelled like tuberose and danger. Sera knew her at once. She had marvelled at her picture in the penny papers many times, but to see her towering over her in the flesh felt like a dream.

Madame Cordelia Mercure, custodian of House Armand and Head of the Order of Cloaks, pursed her lips as she looked her over. ‘There's no need to make such a scene about it.'

‘Sorry,' said Sera. ‘I was just—'

‘Trying to break all my windows?'

‘Trying to get your attention.'

Madame Mercure rolled her hand. ‘Well. Get on with it, then,' she said, in a bored voice.

‘I'm Sera Toussaint.' A half-lie, but better to keep things simple for now. Madame Mercure might know what happened to her mother. If Seraphine revealed herself, then as Head of the Order of Cloaks, she would decline to interfere in Dagger business, and Sera would lose her chance at sanctuary. No. She had to be smart about this. ‘I—well, my mother died.'

Madame Mercure arched a slender eyebrow. ‘And what do you want me to do about it?'

‘I'm… lost.' The last word stuck in Sera's throat. She had been trying to elicit sympathy from Madame Mercure, but she had only managed to make her own eyes prickle. The sudden recollection of her loss was like a rock in her throat. ‘I have nowhere else to go.'

Madame Mercure reached into the pocket of her robe. When she withdrew her hand, it appeared empty but as she moved it under the lantern and flicked her wrist, a handkerchief appeared as if from nowhere. ‘Crying is such desperate business,' she said, handing it to Sera. ‘It makes me terribly uncomfortable.'

Sera took the cloth and knew at once it was made with Shade. As it passed through a shadow, it seemed to disappear, only she could still feel it tingling between her fingers. She dabbed her cheeks and a smudge of soot came away with the tears. The stain melted before her eyes and the handkerchief looked brand new again. Pippin raised his head to sniff it.

Madame Mercure startled at the movement. ‘Gracious. A rodent.'

‘Pippin's a dog.' Sera bristled before she could help it. ‘He's friendly.'

Madame Mercure peered closer. ‘Mange?'

‘No. He's been well cared for.'

‘He doesn't look it.' She looked Sera over again, her gaze lingering on the singed ends of her hair, then the golden teardrop at her throat. Sera noticed it was glowing faintly in the dark. ‘And neither do you. What did you say happened to your mother?'

Sera was seized by the image of Mama lying on the kitchen floor, her face so grey it looked like the ash falling around her. The whites of her eyes had turned black. Her lips too. It was the mark of a Dagger's kill, that shadow magic choking all the light and life out of Mama in ten heartbeats.

‘Plague.' Bile pooled in Sera's throat. ‘Her lungs gave out.'

Madame Mercure's mouth twisted, tasting the lie.

‘And now, you wish to be a Cloak?' she said, taking back her handkerchief.

Sera nodded. What choice did she have? There was nowhere else to hide.

Madame Mercure's gaze flitted over her shoulder, her nostrils flaring as though she could sense something moving in the dark. Pippin raised his head like he could sense it, too. ‘Tell me, Sera Toussaint. Do you have the nerve for thievery?'

‘Yes,' said Sera, curling her fingers, crushing the lie in her palm.

Madame Mercure studied her a moment longer, as if she was making some silent calculation in her head. Then, at last, she stood aside. ‘Vincent will make up a room for you tonight. He will arrange a small stipend for clothing and toiletries. Your first month of room and board is an advance on your first job. That will also be your test. All profits go to the House. Ensuing jobs will be split fifty-fifty. I'll call upon you soon for your first assignment. Be ready.'

‘Thank you, thank you .' Sera leaped through the door, terrified the invitation might expire. As the shadows of House Armand folded around her, she trembled with relief. Pippin licked her hand to settle her, and she looked up to find herself in the grandest kitchen she had ever seen. Every black granite surface was gleaming, and the room was graced with several crystalline vases of fresh roses. The tall corniced ceiling was hung with no less than three flickering chandeliers, and there were enough priceless oil paintings on the walls to sustain an art gallery.

Madame Mercure moved in front of Sera, eclipsing the view. ‘The shears in your pocket. Leave them on the back step. Weapons are not permitted in House Armand.' She removed a set of door keys from the pocket of her robe and Sera noticed a miniature black eye mask dangling on the chain, the winged tips curving into sharpened points. ‘Unlike our morally corrupt brethren, the Cloaks do not dance with death. We are noble folk, you see.'

‘Of course. I understand.' As Sera removed the shears and reluctantly set them down, she reminded herself that it would take more than a rusty blade to skewer the Dagger that had killed Mama.

But that would come later.