Chapter Nine: A Perfect Legacy
Christopher and I sat quietly by the fire, enjoying cups of warm tea to fend off the terrible chill of the snowy Christmas night. Foxy was curled at my feet and Christopher had strewn several blankets over me, to ensure that my cold stayed gone. Warm inside and out, I was perfectly content with the quiet, even though a part of me pined for even one familiar Christmas tradition. I doubted that I would find such things here. Christopher was too busy scheming up ways for us to take Rosalyn's spell book without her noticing.
"I could slip something into her wine, I suppose. I'm sure I could find something useful for that in her study, but…being that she's well versed in the art of poison making…she may notice it." Christopher huffed once more in exasperation. One more scheme denied.
"You're thinking of poisoning her, now?" I asked, my eyebrows knitting together. "We just want to take the book, not kill her. Evil witch or not, I don't want to murder her. If we tried that, we'd be no better than she is."
"I was merely suggesting that we put her to sleep somehow, although a more permanent solution does sound enticing."
I gawked at him in horror.
"I'm joking, Isabel." He laughed softly, continuing his maddening pacing. He hadn't stopped in hours.
"It wasn't funny." I scolded him, eyeing him woefully over the rim of my cup as I took another sip of my earl grey tea, enjoying the pine-like aroma of the steam. "I'm not sure I like where this conversation is going. Please sit down; you're giving me a headache, pacing like that."
"Sorry." He said, falling heavily into the couch I was sitting on. He was so broad, he took up most of it and our shoulders were touching due to the lack of space. He made no move to give me more room. I remembered that when I first came to the house, he'd almost been terrified at the prospect of even coming near me, let alone hold my hand, afraid that he'd harm me in some way with his beast-like strength. Now he was perfectly at ease with me, as if we'd known each other since the womb. I smiled quietly at my own musings. The only other person I had ever been this comfortable with had been my father. After he died, I never thought I'd find another kindred spirit. Life had certainly proved me wrong. "I have to come up with something, but I have no idea what will work. She's always watching me like a hawk. She will notice anything that I do that is out of character." He said. I watched intently as he raked his hand through his dark gold mane, tugging at it in frustration.
"Well, you've yet to suggest a plan where I'm involved. Are you trying to do all this yourself?" I asked, setting my tea cup and saucer down with a clatter. "I'm going to help. I won't let you face this danger on your own."
Christopher tilted his head back, letting it rest against the back of the couch. His thick hair cascaded over the back. He stared up at the ceiling a moment before letting his eyelids flutter closed. "I want to face it alone. I can't allow her to discover you."
"Do you really think that she'd kill me if she found out that I was here?" I asked, remembered something that Ashton had mentioned about the Craft family dying out.
"No, she wouldn't kill you. That was another of my lies. Your Craft blood is far too valuable to her. She'd try to make you into one of them, as she did with your father and Ashton. She succeeded with her son, but not with Peter. I intend for you to follow your father's example and steer clear of the Crafts as much as possible." There was a seriousness to his voice that
"I'm more afraid of what she'd do to you if she discovered that you've been hiding me from her all this time. It's your life that would be in danger, not mine."
Christopher's eyes slowly opened and he turned his head slightly to look at me. "I've already lost my soul to her. It's only a matter of time before the curse destroys me and the last shreds of my humanity. You have not. You're completely pure of her corruption. If you were caught, it would be you who'd ultimately pay the highest price."
My eyes narrowed fiercely, anger and stubbornness filling my belly. "I'm going to help you, Christopher, whether you like it or not. If I must risk the greatest loss, then it should be my decision to risk it. Rosalyn could not corrupt my father and she will not corrupt me. No matter what she does to me or what gift she offers, I won't fall. I won't break." I smirked at the astonished look on his face. "I'm stronger than you give me credit for, my friend."
Christopher laughed in that deep bellied way that was so rare. He often laughed, but none of those usual ways was as genuine as this. I often thought that without the lion-like features, Christopher would make a great Santa Clause. "You are, aren't you?" He said with a wide grin. "Forgive me for selling you so short. I guess I cannot dissuade you. Do you have a plan?"
"I do, actually." I smiled with pride, glancing sideways at the shadow servants that were busily clearing away the leftovers of our late dinner from the dining table. "I believe that I have a way that I can attend your New Year's dinner and still evade detection."
"How is that?" He asked with amusement.
"I'll disguise myself as one of the servants. They seem perfectly solid when they're fully conjured. With the right clothing and a mask, I don't think she'd be able to tell the difference."
Christopher's head shot back up, his whole form jumping back to attention. "That could very well work." He breathed, smiling cunningly. He stood back up, thoughtlessly returning to his restless pacing. His arms flailed as he spoke excitedly. "Rosalyn's so used to the shadows that she barely notices their presence any more. If you slip in and out quickly enough, she shouldn't notice that anything's out of place. I can keep her busy while you check her bag and coat for the spell book. If we're lucky, she won't notice that it's gone."
"But she will, won't she? Once she gets home? She's bound to come back here to look for it."
"She will and I'll gladly give it back to her. So long as she doesn't know about you, she'll believe that it simply fell out. I can gain nothing from having the book, anyway. When we have it, we'll have to quickly contact Ashton, so that he can translate the spells."
"Do you have a disguise that will work?" I asked.
Christopher's smile grew, his face lighting up cheerfully. For once in his life, it seemed that he had the upper hand on his arch nemesis. "I do." He said in a singsong voice. "I have a suit and mask, nearly identical that those worn by the servants. I wear them when Rosalyn throws soirees for her occult enthusiast friends here. For these parties, she often gives me a reprieve from the curse so that I can pour drinks and not frighten everyone away. I insisted on the mask for my own comfort. The suit is far too big for you, but perhaps we can take it in enough before the party."
We heard the grandfather clock announce the midnight hour as we retreated up the stairs to Christopher's bare bedroom. Setting the small vase aside, he threw open his trunk and brought out a neatly folded black suit and a white mask, very similar to those worn by the shadows.
"Put this on." He said, slipping the coat of the suit over my shoulders. It hung on me, the sleeves reaching far past my fingertips. He laughed at the absurd amount of extra material. "I may have to rip the suit apart and start from scratch." He eyed me playfully. "This would be a lot easier if you weren't the size of a child."
I blushed violently. "Don't tease me! You're a giant!" I growled, punching him weakly in the shoulder. He made a show of rubbing the offended shoulder and hissing in mock pain.
"I'll make it work." He assured me. "It'll just take me a little longer, is all." With a small smile playing on his feline lips, he set to work folding and pinning the jacket to fit my much smaller frame.
"You know how to sew?" I asked, watching in awe as he pinned my right sleeve at the proper length.
"I do. I learned how back at the orphanage. I'm not terribly good at it now. It's difficult with these big paws of mine, but I manage. I could have the shadows do it for me, but I'm very wary of them. They answer to Rosalyn, after all."
"Did you make those dresses that you gave me?" I asked.
He paused for a long moment. "I made a couple of them, yes-at least in part. I made the yellow and black ones. The other, more ornate gowns, used to belong to Rosalyn. They were gifts from her late husband." His grey eyes turned dark silver as the firelight from the quickly melting candles started to die. "She stopped wearing them after he died."
I felt that there was more behind this statement, words he was too afraid to say. I couldn't help but pry. "How did my great-uncle die, Christopher? Did she kill him?" I asked. "Did she place a curse on her own husband as well?"
"No," he replied in a ragged sigh. His eyes lifted from his work to meet mine with a look of unspeakable dread. "Ashton did."
My breath halted in my chest, as horror chilled my blood. "His own son murdered him?"
"I don't know the details exactly. I wasn't there at the time, but the maids that used to work here, told me that Ashton pushed his father down the staircase." His voice became a timid whisper. He set his needles aside. His hands were shaking too much for him to do the delicate work. "He wasn't the first life that Ashton Craft ended…prematurely…and he was definitely not the last. As the years went by, the living servants disappeared and were replaced by the shadows. Not all of them are Rosalyn's handiwork. Ashton is far worse than his mother. Rosalyn will let you kill yourself, by giving you exactly what you think you want. Ashton will kill you with his own bare hands to obtain what he wants."
"We shouldn't do this. We can't let him get the book." I shuttered, thinking of the second floor landing that was just outside my bedroom door, where a body once lay, drenching the floorboards with crimson blood. I slumped down to sit at the edge of Chirstopher's bed, ignoring the painful pricks of the needles. I imagined seeing a younger version of Ashton, standing at the top of the staircase, smiling in exultation at his own father's crumpled and broken body. I could hear his cold laughter in my head and it made me want to cry in utter fear.
"We must. It's the only way, I can set you free." With a heavy sigh, he sat next to me and lightly placed his hand on my shoulder. "Isabel, whatever Ashton has planned, he will accomplish whether he has the book or not. This will only make it a little easier for him. The most frightening thing about that man is that he doesn't really need magic to ruin lives."
"How can I be related to someone like that, someone so evil? What sort of blood is running in my veins?" I shivered and rubbed at my suddenly tired eyes.
"I'm…not so certain that he is related to you," said Christopher with a little hesitation.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"When I was a child, there was a rumor amongst the servants here, that Ashton wasn't really Lionel Craft's son, that he was the product of an affair that occurred while he was in India for business for several months. The rumor rings true to me. Ashton doesn't look like Lionel or any of the Crafts. Lionel may have suspected as much. He was always a bit distant from Ashton, doting more attention on your father than to him. Ashton despised him for it and it's what led to his demise, I believe."
"If that's true…if Ashton isn't really a Craft by blood…then…where does his power come from?"
Christopher swallowed hard, as if the action had suddenly become extremely difficult. "I suspect that whatever deal that Ashton has made with the spirit within the mirror, was one of his own making." He cleared his throat and removed his hand from my shoulder. Nervously, raking his hand through his mane, he reached into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. "But enough about him, I have something for you." He pulled out a small book with a hunter's green cover. Along the spine, in swirling golden writing, was inscribed the title A Collection of Classic Poetry and Other Imaginary Works. He smiled at me, his mismatched teeth peeking from beneath his lips. "Merry Christmas."
I took the gift from him, unable to suppress my own grin and the light laughter that began to ring through the air of the small bedroom. For some reason, tears began to fall from my eyes. I couldn't hold them back. I was still smiling and laughing. I was happy, yet the tears still fell. "I don't have a gift for you." I said, sadly.
"I don't need a gift." He said. "Do you like it? I thought that you might find another poem about syphilis in there." He laughed at his own joke.
I laughed as I wiped at my eyes, annoyed by how easily I cried these days. "I love it, Christopher. Thank you so very much. This isn't how I imagined this Christmas would be, but I'm glad that I got to spend it with you."
"I'm glad I got to spend it with you too, Isabel."
It was getting into the early hours of morning by the time I returned to my own bedroom. The suit's adjustments were coming along, although it was nowhere near finished. Christopher really did have to destroy the thing in order to make it fit me. Carrying Foxy in my arms, I trudged along the hallway. My eyes burned from tiredness and my legs seemed to have decided to go on strike. They felt like they were turning to stone. I looked over my shoulder at the second floor landing as I opened my door, trying not to envision the blood that once stained the floor there.
I heard a crunch of paper under the toe of my shoe as I walked in. I sat Foxy down and retrieved the crumpled letter from beneath my foot. I frowned at it with a deep sigh, noting Christopher's seal; another proposal, another refusal. I sat at my vanity and read the note.
Isabel, I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. If only all of my holidays could be like this one, spent with someone I care about. I believe I already know what your reply will be, but I will ask all the same. Will you marry me?
Christopher
I dipped my quill into a well of dark ink. I set the sharp tip to the parchment. I paused, a strange hesitation stilling my hand. Ink dripped from the quill, leaving a large stain. My frown deepened. It was getting harder and harder to tell him no. Forcing out the needed word onto the paper, I walked out into hallway, and called for one of the servants. One of the Shadows peeled itself from off of the wall, where the shadow of a sconce was cast and reformed itself into the tuxedoed and maxed form of a servant. "Take this to Christopher please and if you can…let him know…that I'm sorry." The servant tilted his head as he listened, then nodded in understanding. "One more thing," I added, quickly. "Could you somehow get me a gold pocket watch, a very good one? I owe Christopher a Christmas present." The servant nodded to me once more before bowing and moving gracefully towards the staircase.
The next morning, beside my head on the pillow, gleamed the golden pocket watch. I picked up the surprisingly light watch, popping open its lid to admire the face of the clock itself. There, just on the inside of the lid, was an inscription: To Christopher with love. I stared at the inscription, wondering why in the world it was there. I hadn't asked the shadow to have something like that done and the words themselves didn't really work for our situation. It seemed like something a wife would have done for their husband, not a friend for a friend. The shadows were terribly bold things.
Over the next week, Christopher and I carefully prepared for the New Year's dinner party. I kept the watch carefully tucked away so that I could give it to him once the whole New Years' mess was over. The suit took a great deal of work. I helped Christopher with some of the sewing, since his hands made the more delicate threadwork more difficult.
The night before the dinner, I changed into the finished suit for a dress rehearsal. "Does it look convincing?" I asked, twirling slowly so that Christopher could see the suit on me from all angles.
"I think so. I added at little more fabric to the front of the jacket so hopefully Rosalyn won't be able to tell that you're a girl. He handed me some white gloves and let me tug those on while he retrieved the porcelain mask. He handed it to me with a scrap of black cloth.
"What's this?" I asked, taking the black cloth from the hollow of the mask.
"It's a hood to cover your hair and skin. Without it you'd still look like a living person. We'll also need to paint around your eyes with some black make up. Try not to look directly at her at the party. You don't want her to see your eyes."
"Good idea." After I tugged on the hood, I set the mask in place and Christopher tied its sash. I peered at myself in the mirror that he'd had the servants retrieve for him. I thought I looked surprisingly convincing, perhaps too convincing. I had the same narrow shape, if not the exact height. The suit had been made to fit me very well. The shoes shined with new polish. Still, my eyes lingered on the mask. It was pure white, making the features blend into each other almost to the point of making them disappear completely. Within the hollows of the eye sockets, my blue eyes seemed duller, as if wearing the disguise was drawing the very life out of me. "Take it off. I don't like seeing myself in this thing." I pleaded. Christopher did as I asked. My breath was ragged when I pulled the mask away from my face and pulled the hood off.
"Are you okay?" Christopher asked with concern.
"I'm fine. It's just…seeing myself as one of them is disturbing." I said. I couldn't imagine what it was like for him, knowing that one day he really would be one of the shadows if his curse wasn't lifted. My chest tightened painfully. I wished I knew how to save him from that horrible fate.
The appointed time for the party came more quickly than we would have liked. We had to rush to finish all the final touches, making sure that I was as convincing as possible. I had spent hours mimicking the shadows, committing to memory the subtlety of their movements and the easy grace in which they took every step. "There's something that's been troubling me." I began as Christopher finished tying the sash of the mask. We were using Christopher's room as my dressing room. The doors of both rooms on the third floor were open and from where I was standing I could see the family portrait hanging on the wall of Rosalyn's mirror room. "In the painting, Ashton seems to be about a year older than my father, but when I met him he didn't seem any older than you."
"I figured you would ask me about that someday. It's their magic. They use it to make themselves forever young. It's one of the things that was so appealing to Rosalyn in the first place. However, eternal youth is not the same as eternal life. Rosalyn is still aging, on the inside. One day, she'll die of old age, while her face remains flawless with youth."
"And Ashton?" I prodded, wondering why he only spoke of Rosalyn and not both of the Crafts.
"Ashton…" There was a faltering in his breath. "Ashton is another case entirely. He seems to have worked out a different sort of agreement with the spirit in the mirror, one with a different kind of payment. He, I truly believe, has gained immortality. I've seen him overcome too many things that would have killed anyone else, to believe otherwise. When he was a boy, he was thrown from his father's horse and trampled. He should have died then, but still he got up and brushed himself off as if it never happened. The maids told me that they were certain that the horses' hooves had crushed the boy's body, yet he walked away without a single broken bone, not a solitary scratch or bruise. Then a few years after your father and mother left, he dueled a man for the hand of his fiancé. He killed the man, but took a bullet to the heart as well. He should have bled to death, but when the maids removed his shirt to assess the wound, they found no wound, not even a mark even though there was a hole in his shirt and the front of it was stained with his blood."
"How can that be possible? Even if the spirit has granted him immense powers, no one can become immortal." I asked, my voice a breathy rasp through the mask.
"Sometimes I doubt that Ashton is even entirely human." Christopher whispered, his eyes meeting mine, full of fear.
"Gossiping about me, are we?"
Christopher and I gasped in surprise, finding Ashton suddenly standing in the doorway.
"You've disguised yourself as a shadow, how very cunning of you. I don't think I would have thought of it myself." Ashton said as he adjusted his black silk tie.
"What are you doing here?" Christopher asked, instinctively stepping between Ashton and me.
Ashton leaned his shoulder against the doorway. His lips stretched into a wide smile, his black eyes focused solely on me. "I came for the party, silly. I do have to make sure that my pawns are doing their jobs correctly, after all."
Christopher growled at him in distaste.
I could already feel Ashton's spell setting to work on me. The foreign desire to go to his side filled me. I pushed it away, putting up a mental wall to keep it at bay. "Stop doing that." I hissed.
"Stop doing what?" He asked, as if he had no idea what I was talking about.
"Stop casting that spell on me! It won't work on me so stop!"
"You recognize that it's a spell. That's very perceptive of you, my dear." He chuckled. "Very well, I'll stop, but please tell me, how do you know it won't work on you?"
I glared at him from behind the placid mask. "It won't work, because I won't allow it to."
He laughed deeply, amused by my words. "Are you sure that you won't reconsider learning the black arts? You have a great deal of potential."
"I'm not interested."
Smiling at me, he blinked his eyes slowly. When they reopened, I felt the feeling of desire leave me completely, as if it had seeped out of my very pours. For the first time, Ashton shifted his attention to Christopher. "Thorn, my wife, Elizabeth, will be arriving shortly. Make sure that there's a place setting at the table for her. I need to speak with Miss Isabel for a moment, in private."
"I'm not about to leave you alone with her." Christopher growled.
"Go, Christopher, I'll be okay." I assured him, touching his arm in reassurance.
"Don't." Christopher whispered, his face crumpling in despair. His silver eyes shifted wildly as he tried in vain to read me through the mask. "Don't make me leave you."
"Please." I whispered, squeezing his arm, pleadingly.
His breath released in a painful sounding gasp. He pulled away from me, his features falling into a deep scowl. Reluctantly, Christopher went downstairs, leaving Ashton and I by ourselves. "What is it?" I asked.
Ashton put his hands behind his back as he stepped over the threshold of Christopher's room. "I have another proposition for you." He began, a sly smirk appearing. "The spell I wanted from the spell book was one that can turn a man into a frog, but as it turns out, I won't be needing it any longer."
"Why is that?" I dared to ask.
"It seems that the man I intended the curse for has had a terrible accident involving a train." He shrugged his shoulders, slight laughter ringing in his voice. "Poor thing didn't look both ways before crossing the tracks." His eyes gleamed devilishly. "Never saw it coming."
I swallowed the bile that arose in my throat. "I'm guessing that you have something else in mind for your payment?"
"I do." He confirmed. "It is true that there are wards to protect the mirror from being destroyed. If someone tries to shatter it, it's their own life that they destroy. However, another Craft can break it without any harm coming to them. In exchange for my help, I'd like you to shatter my mother's mirror."
"Why?" I asked, my brows furrowing. "It would kill her, wouldn't it?"
"Hopefully," Ashton grinned.
"She's your mother." I took a step back from him, frightened by the wolfish look on his face. "Why would you want her dead?"
"It's quite simple really." He took another step forward. " I just do. I've wanted it for a very long time, for as long as I can remember. Rosalyn herself knows it. She's afraid of me, so she's put up a special ward designed specifically to guard the mirror from me. That's why I need you, dear cousin." He crossed the distance between us in the blink of an eye. Touching my chin with one finger, he tilted my head back, forcing me to look him directly in the eyes. "I will make it worth your while. All you have to do is shatter the mirror and I will gladly tell you the secret behind Christopher's curse. You can cure him and then the both of you will be free. All you have to do is this one, simple task and you can obtain everything that you desire. It's just that easy."
"I can't! I won't!" I refused. I tried to pull myself free of him, to get as far away from him as I possibly could. This man frightened me more than Rosalyn herself. There was something so very wrong about his eyes. They were so dark and cold. I saw no life in them, no humanity or compassion. I felt like I was looking into the face of a serpent, wrapped tightly in its coils. "I am not a murderer!" I screamed my panic rising. I couldn't move. My body was frozen where it stood.
"Like me?" He whispered, pleasure drenching his words. "Is that what you were about to say? Really Isabel, you shouldn't believe everything you hear. Thorn doesn't know what the devil he's talking about. He only told you rumors."
"I believe them!" I hissed through my gnashed teeth.
"I never laid a hand on them and there isn't a bit of evidence that says I did." He sneered. His fingertips slithered away from my chin to wrap themselves around my throat. He didn't apply any pressure, but the intent was clear.
"You don't have to actually touch someone to kill them. Your latest victim is proof of that. You don't need to touch them. You merely make things happen to them."
At this, he laughed. "True enough. I only need to breathe the word and the wheels of fate are set in motion. I call something into being and it is born. Unfortunately, not everything is as easy as that. I still have yet to obtain that which I desire the very most." He drew closer to me. His lips nearly brushed those of the porcelain mask. "My son," He breathed lowly. His laughter became bitter. "Isn't it ironic? I was born with unspeakable power. Compared to me, my mother is a fraud, and I haven't been able to create a single child. It's absolutely pitiful." His eyes gleamed with a dark red light, like blood on fire. My scream froze in my throat. "But you could change that. If you won't kill my mother, then perhaps you could agree to marry me instead. You and I both know that there is absolutely no blood shared between us." The unearthly fire in his eyes burned brighter as his fingers tightened around my neck. "There is powerful magic lying dormant in your blood, Isabel. If you were to bare me a child, he would be more powerful than even I can imagine…a perfect legacy."
