Page 93 of As Many Souls as Stars
‘Let me go,’ Walter said, and his voice was wavering, his eyes wide. He’d realised that Miriam was more than she seemed, but it was too late.
‘Is this what you wanted, Rosamund?’ Miriam said to the shadows, bidding them to pass the message on: and her voice was a cacophony, discordant, shrieking like the gulls that flew above them, roaring like the waves of the Atlantic, groaning like the iron of theMonumental’s hull. ‘You wanted retribution, didn’t you? You wanted me to be the demon, dragging you to hell. You wanted to hurtmethe way I’ve hurtyou. I’m sure you’d appreciate something new to avenge.’
‘Don’t—’ Walter said.
‘Then here it is,’ Miriam said, and she threw him over the side of the ship.
It took only an instant. Her strength was such that Walt plummeted toward the water like a cannonball. The Atlantic rose to meet him, and he disappeared beneath the waves. He didn’t even have time to scream—and besides, if he had screamed, the wailing of the wind would have drowned it out. Miriam could have been merciful, andsent the darkness after him, to grant him a quick death. She didn’t. She would let him drown.
Miriam stretched out her arms and bid the shadows to her. They came without complaint, seething around her shoulders, draping themselves across her hands.
‘Come find me, darling,’ she said. ‘It’s been so long since we last danced.’
24
You wanted retribution—
You wanted me to be the demon, dragging you to hell—
Rosamund was in her silk dressing gown—shell-pink, bias-cut, feather-edged—barefoot, disoriented, her tiny bottle of henbane oil clutched in one fist. She stumbled out of her cabin and into the corridor. She could hear Miriam’s voice in her mind, over and over; could feel the press of shadows around her, pulling her forward. Her vision was doubled, the narrow plum-carpeted hallways of theMonumentalinterposed with the dark wood of Thomas’s townhouse, the tapestried walls of Harding Hall. On either side of her, she saw mirrors: Cybil’s face, Esther’s face, reflected back to her, blood dripping from their throats. The air was thick with the scent of wilting roses, the tang of iron.
She knew this was magic, knew this was Miriam’s influence, but the onslaught was too strong to resist. Rosamund allowed the shadows to tug her forward. Behind one door, leading to some other cabin, she heard a woman screaming. Rosamund stumbled and stopped, feeling her eyes well with tears.
‘Mother?’ she said, pressing herself to the door—but the screaming went silent as abruptly as it had begun, and when she tried the handle, the door was locked.
Around the corner, a male figure was watching her.Isaac, she thought, and she ran forward, reaching for him. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, she had since the moment she’d remembered him;sorry for her coldness as Esther, her cruelty to him. She’d spent her life pushing him away because of a curse that didn’t exist. He’d needed her, and she hadn’t been there for him.
‘Isaac, I’m sorry,’ she said, rounding the corner. But no one was there.
At the end of this corridor was an iron door, leading to the promenade. A Miriam-shaped shadow stood in front of it, watching her.
Rosamund drew in a ragged breath. She’d started crying at some point—she didn’t know when. ‘Please,’ she pleaded, ‘if you love me, stop this.’
The shadow laughed, cruel and cold, and then it disappeared.
There was nowhere to go but forward. Rosamund lurched toward the door. When she opened it, she found herself in an orchard.
The deck of the ship was gone. The ground was soft beneath her feet, damp soil and wet grass. It was raining, but the rain didn’t touch her, instead making a halo around her as it dissipated inches from her skin. The air smelt like fermenting apples and rotting leaves. In the distance, there stood the towering lead and brick and glass of a familiar building, and Rosamund almost cried out in shock at seeing it again.
Miriam was standing behind her. She curled an arm around her waist, keeping her in place, and tucked Rosamund’s hair behind her ear. ‘Welcome home.’
‘Why are we here?’ Rosamund asked, staring in horror at Harding Hall.
‘I found the grimoire, darling. I thought a reminder was in order: what happens to those who refuse me. The shadows obliged. They betrayed you. Fear is stronger than love, in the end.’
Rosamund flinched. Miriam’s arm remained in place, unmoving as iron. ‘I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see this place.’
‘Poor thing,’ Miriam said. ‘Does it hurt to remember? You were always sorawas Cybil, you know. You burnt so fiercely. No wonder things caught fire.’
‘I was sheltered,’ Rosamund said, voice trembling. ‘Naïve.’
‘Do you blame yourself for what happened?’
‘A little. Not much. What happened to Cybil… no one deserves that.’
‘Do you blame me?’
Rosamund laughed, choked. ‘What do you think?’
