Illusions of Fate
Page 27
“It is nothing of the sort! It’s . . .” I glance at Finn, who is avoiding my eyes. “He was just spying, and . . .” Romantic? Preposterous. But suddenly I am desperate to understand. “What does it mean? He wouldn’t explain it to me.”
“Open your mouth, Eleanor, and I will cut out your tongue and use it as fertilizer for my personal herb garden.”
“But she should know!” Eleanor whines, pulling me back to the couch across from Finn. “It’s adorable.”
From the look on Finn’s face, it’s clear that no one has ever used “adorable” in conjunction with him before. And that he is not overly fond of it.
“If you don’t explain it to me right now, I will never speak to either of you again. Which means no more gossip for you.” I point at Eleanor and then at Finn. “And no more . . .” My sharp words fall to pieces at the look he pierces me with. Perhaps he would mind it if I never spoke to him again.
This room is very hot.
“Will you leave us for a moment, Eleanor?” Finn asks.
“I would not miss this for—”
“Leave.”
Eleanor’s legs walk her out of the room. She cranes her neck around to yell, “She’ll tell me later, you know! We’re the best of friends now!” The door slams behind her. “I would have told it better than you!” she yells, her voice muffled.
Finn clasps his hands behind his back and begins pacing. “Most of what you call magic is carefully controlled. Like chemistry. I assume you have studied chemistry.”
“Yes,” I snap.
“When the right elements are combined—whether they are plants or minerals or symbols or simply words—by someone of noble blood, they produce a reaction. It’s more science than anything, and the best practitioners are the ones who have studied the most, and who have access to the most information. It’s a delicate process. In the more complex instances, a single misplaced word or line could change the entire thing.”
“Yes, fine.”
“But there are some . . . aspects . . . that we still do not understand and that are beyond our control. Much like the potential being in blood. Some generations are skipped entirely, some people are born with far greater capabilities for no apparent reason. Many believe that a good deal of what we access exists outside of us, all the time. We can find evidence of it, in things like . . .” He pauses. “Well, in things like the cards. No reading is ever the same, and the interpretations vary. It lacks the precision of the more learned methods, but there is something elemental about it, something that we cannot control or change.”
I don’t hold back an unladylike snort. “Pretty pictures on a card tell the future.”
“I know how it sounds. I was resistant to it as well, but my mother—” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. “She was gifted with the cards and taught me what she could. I have had the evidences I need.”
“Will your mother tell me my fortune as well?”
Something shifts in Finn’s eyes at my snide tone, and he looks farther away. “She’s dead. My father, too.”
Badly done, Jessamin. I cringe. “I’m sorry. But you have still said nothing of shadows.”
His jaw twitches, whether with annoyance or amusement I do not know him well enough to say. “Your professors must be constantly exhausted.”
I smile. “I do try.”
His tone shifts from a pedantic, scholarly drone to a rushed tumble of words, as though by saying them faster, I will understand them less. “Shadows go in front of you, leading into your future, and trail behind you, leaving a part of you in the past. They are clearest when we are in the light, and disappear when we lose ourselves in darkness. When a shadow elects to jump to another person, it is an indication that they are your present and your future, that in light you will find them, in darkness you will lose them. It is highly unusual and very important and, might I add, extremely dangerous for the owner of the shadow.
“I have always been able to use mine as an extension of myself, in a form like Lord Downpike’s familiars, but much more stable because it’s actually a part of me. Thus separated, both myself and my shadow are vulnerable to attack. The fact that I have lost it represents Lord Downpike’s greatest opportunity to manipulate and blackmail me, and surely you understand now why it is best for you to be secreted away.”
I frown, trying to process the rush of information. “You mean . . . it would be safer for you if I went away.”
“For both of us, naturally. We are connected.”
I throw my hands in the air, beyond exasperated. “We’ve already discussed this! Take it back! I don’t want it!”
“I cannot! I would not even if I could!”
“Why not, you daft boy? I never asked you to grace me with your precious shadow or to give up your future and past and whatever other nonsense that accompanies it!”
“If you had asked, I wouldn’t have given it to you! I couldn’t have! It is precisely because you are so maddening that I had no other—”
Eleanor’s voice sounds unnaturally loud from the entryway. We both freeze. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise visit, Lord Downpike?”
Fifteen
A PIT OF TERROR OPENS IN MY STOMACH. “ELEANOR betrayed us,” I whisper. I cannot face Lord Downpike again, not now, not with the memory of my pain so fresh.
“Open your mouth, Eleanor, and I will cut out your tongue and use it as fertilizer for my personal herb garden.”
“But she should know!” Eleanor whines, pulling me back to the couch across from Finn. “It’s adorable.”
From the look on Finn’s face, it’s clear that no one has ever used “adorable” in conjunction with him before. And that he is not overly fond of it.
“If you don’t explain it to me right now, I will never speak to either of you again. Which means no more gossip for you.” I point at Eleanor and then at Finn. “And no more . . .” My sharp words fall to pieces at the look he pierces me with. Perhaps he would mind it if I never spoke to him again.
This room is very hot.
“Will you leave us for a moment, Eleanor?” Finn asks.
“I would not miss this for—”
“Leave.”
Eleanor’s legs walk her out of the room. She cranes her neck around to yell, “She’ll tell me later, you know! We’re the best of friends now!” The door slams behind her. “I would have told it better than you!” she yells, her voice muffled.
Finn clasps his hands behind his back and begins pacing. “Most of what you call magic is carefully controlled. Like chemistry. I assume you have studied chemistry.”
“Yes,” I snap.
“When the right elements are combined—whether they are plants or minerals or symbols or simply words—by someone of noble blood, they produce a reaction. It’s more science than anything, and the best practitioners are the ones who have studied the most, and who have access to the most information. It’s a delicate process. In the more complex instances, a single misplaced word or line could change the entire thing.”
“Yes, fine.”
“But there are some . . . aspects . . . that we still do not understand and that are beyond our control. Much like the potential being in blood. Some generations are skipped entirely, some people are born with far greater capabilities for no apparent reason. Many believe that a good deal of what we access exists outside of us, all the time. We can find evidence of it, in things like . . .” He pauses. “Well, in things like the cards. No reading is ever the same, and the interpretations vary. It lacks the precision of the more learned methods, but there is something elemental about it, something that we cannot control or change.”
I don’t hold back an unladylike snort. “Pretty pictures on a card tell the future.”
“I know how it sounds. I was resistant to it as well, but my mother—” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. “She was gifted with the cards and taught me what she could. I have had the evidences I need.”
“Will your mother tell me my fortune as well?”
Something shifts in Finn’s eyes at my snide tone, and he looks farther away. “She’s dead. My father, too.”
Badly done, Jessamin. I cringe. “I’m sorry. But you have still said nothing of shadows.”
His jaw twitches, whether with annoyance or amusement I do not know him well enough to say. “Your professors must be constantly exhausted.”
I smile. “I do try.”
His tone shifts from a pedantic, scholarly drone to a rushed tumble of words, as though by saying them faster, I will understand them less. “Shadows go in front of you, leading into your future, and trail behind you, leaving a part of you in the past. They are clearest when we are in the light, and disappear when we lose ourselves in darkness. When a shadow elects to jump to another person, it is an indication that they are your present and your future, that in light you will find them, in darkness you will lose them. It is highly unusual and very important and, might I add, extremely dangerous for the owner of the shadow.
“I have always been able to use mine as an extension of myself, in a form like Lord Downpike’s familiars, but much more stable because it’s actually a part of me. Thus separated, both myself and my shadow are vulnerable to attack. The fact that I have lost it represents Lord Downpike’s greatest opportunity to manipulate and blackmail me, and surely you understand now why it is best for you to be secreted away.”
I frown, trying to process the rush of information. “You mean . . . it would be safer for you if I went away.”
“For both of us, naturally. We are connected.”
I throw my hands in the air, beyond exasperated. “We’ve already discussed this! Take it back! I don’t want it!”
“I cannot! I would not even if I could!”
“Why not, you daft boy? I never asked you to grace me with your precious shadow or to give up your future and past and whatever other nonsense that accompanies it!”
“If you had asked, I wouldn’t have given it to you! I couldn’t have! It is precisely because you are so maddening that I had no other—”
Eleanor’s voice sounds unnaturally loud from the entryway. We both freeze. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise visit, Lord Downpike?”
Fifteen
A PIT OF TERROR OPENS IN MY STOMACH. “ELEANOR betrayed us,” I whisper. I cannot face Lord Downpike again, not now, not with the memory of my pain so fresh.
