Page 55 of As Many Souls as Stars
‘Do you mean to kill me?’ she asked him, unable to dance this dance anymore, to hide from the horror of it like a lady demure behind her fan. ‘As revenge, for Lily and all the rest?’
‘No,’ he replied.
‘Then what? Don’t tell me again you invited me here out of the goodness of your heart. I know about the rituals, Thomas. About the grimoire.’
A flash of anger in his eyes, quick as a striking blade; then it was gone. ‘I should’ve known better than to keep secrets from a witch, I suppose,’ he said. ‘No matter. Follow me, cousin, and I will explain everything.’
Against her better judgement, Esther stood and followed him out of the dining room.
They went to the second floor, to a door painted with roses: Lily’s old room. Thomas unlocked the door with a key from his pocket, and they entered.
In the dim illumination from the candle, the room’s colours were grey and black, although a corner of the bedspread revealed by the light seemed a pale yellow tone. The main piece of furniture, as was to be expected, was the bed: a large double, generous enough for two, its headboard carved with flowers.
And on the bed itself—Esther was convinced, for a moment, that she was imagining it.
‘What is this?’ Esther asked, in half a whisper.
‘Your redemption,’ Thomas replied.
It was a coffin, a handsome dark wood coffin, lying heavy on the covers, dipping the mattress with its weight. It only just fit on the bed—but it was a tiny coffin, too, Esther thought. For someone unusually small.
‘Thomas,’ Esther said, slowly, ‘is Lily in there?’
‘Yes.’
Her stomach rolled. ‘But—Isawher buried, last year—’
‘A separate coffin, full of stones. I had this one stored here, at some expense.’
‘Why?’
‘For the ritual,’ Thomas said, blandly. ‘Her soul is still in there, you see. My father always said salt kept spirits away. The moment she died, I lined the house with it—the coffin, too. Her body is dead, but Lily remains. All she requires is a vessel.’
‘A vessel,’ Esther said, and she took a trembling step back. ‘A vessel like me.’
Thomas turned to her. In the darkness, lit only by the guttering candle, his movements seemed jerky and sporadic: a monstruous marionette, strings pulled by the shadows.
‘Don’t you see?’ He smiled at her. ‘All the guilt, Esther, all the cruelty you have inflicted—I am giving you a chance to undo the damage you’ve caused. Release your soul, end the curse. It is the only way.’
‘You want me to die.’
‘The others died,’ he said. ‘And more still will. You love Isaac, don’t you? You want him to live a long, happy life? I loved Lily, too. But you took her from me. I can’t blame you for it—that is your nature. The First Daughter. My father always warned me, but it took me so long to finally understand.’
Esther took another step back, toward the doorway. Thomas’s hand closed around her arm.
‘Let me go,’ she said.
With his free hand, Thomas reached into his coat pocket. Esther flinched, expecting a weapon—but instead, he pulled out a book, its cover black leather, pressed with their family’s crest. The three-headed hawk. Past, present, future. Seeing it now, Esther had an intangible moment of recognition, as if she had seen this grimoire before, long ago; as if it were something from a dream, now made reality.
‘I tried so desperately to do it myself,’ he said. ‘But it was no use. And I know, now, that it never will be. You are the only one with the power to do this, Esther. To remove your soul and put another in its place.’
‘You want me to replace my soul with Lily’s,’ she whispered.
‘Yes. It must be your sacrifice. Your absolution.’
Esther reached forward, shaking, and took the book from him. Thomas released his grip on her arm.
‘There,’ he said, satisfied. ‘You finally see—’
