Creatures of Charm and Hunger Page 4

  Shall we finish up?

  Jane’s opinion of the presence in her mind did not improve as it persisted.

  “Finish?” asked Jane.

  You said you wanted to finish up before you went to the Admiral’s party. And if we don’t get started, we’ll be more than fashionably late.

  “But—”

  They’ll find you irresistible, said the voice. The perfume will befuddle their senses, bewitch their minds, hold their attention!

  “Why?” asked Jane.

  Because that is your will. Your desire. Jane didn’t think that sounded like her at all, and she began to suspect something odd was going on with this entire experience. You want them to notice you, to see you, admire you. You want to be at the center of their lives, don’t you?

  Jane felt greasy and unsettled. “I do want that,” said Jane—why lie; it could read her thoughts!—“but I want to win that on my own, not through a perfume . . .”

  You are a diabolist, Jane! It sounded almost annoyed, as if she were betraying some sort of previous agreement between them. Jane!

  “But—”

  “Jane,” someone said. “Jane!”

  It was her mother. Jane startled up in her chair as Nancy squeezed her hand with a deep and reassuring pressure. This rare motherly gesture brought Jane back to herself.

  Better still, the presence in her mind was completely, totally gone.

  “There you are.” Nancy’s smile was tense and worried.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is it Miriam?”

  “No, no. Miriam’s been awake for a while—she’s upstairs, with Edith.”

  “She disappeared . . .”

  Jane’s mother squeezed her hand again. “She was here the whole time. So was Edith. It’s the nature of the serum; it takes you into your own mind, but sometimes in surprising ways.”

  Jane’s head began to clear. “I didn’t really speak with a demon today, did I?”

  “No,” said her mother. “You didn’t. It was a diabolic hallucination. It was meant to show you your own mind about how you’d act if you had made the Pact.”

  Jane felt an enormous sense of relief. “I passed, then. I said I didn’t want to control anyone or make them bend to my will or something.”

  “That’s good to know!” Nancy looked extremely, almost disproportionally relieved. Then she said: “But your reaction to the actual experience of sharing yourself so fully with a demon was what was being tested.”

  “My reaction?”

  “It can be . . . unnerving, sharing one’s self so closely with another,” said Nancy. “A lover could never be so intimate. And it doesn’t tend to get less intense. There’s no privacy to be had after you summon a demon. They know everything; they’re a part of you forever.”

  She peered at Jane. “I only mention this because, usually, the longer the Test takes, the less successful the encounter.”

  “Is that so?” Jane made sure to convey only the mildest of interest in this as she yawned and stretched, but in reality she was starting to feel very uncomfortable.

  She couldn’t have failed the Test. That was impossible! She’d always been destined for Mastery. It was the only thing she’d ever wanted.

  “The truth is”—Nancy still seemed anxious, as if Jane hadn’t said the right word or phrase that would end this nightmare for them both—“the Société has found that those who do not enjoy their experience during the Test rarely go on to enjoy having a demon companion. We’d rather just not have them among our ranks—for their sake. The Test allows us to weed them out early, before it’s too late.”

  “Of course.” Jane would not let herself be weeded out. She deserved to be here as much as anyone.

  She forced herself to smile. Nancy visibly relaxed. “Why would they want to continue anyway?” she asked, a decoy inquiry.

  “You’d be surprised.” Nancy still had that aura of anxiousness. “Sometimes the idea of being a diabolist is so appealing that people ignore their reason and dive in when they’re not suited for it. It rarely works out for them,” she said with a sad smile.

  Jane knew she had to distract her mother, and quickly. She decided to try a new tack. “I was dressed so fabulously in my dream, or whatever it was,” she said. “I hope that also bodes well!”

  That was what Nancy had wanted to hear, apparently. “That’s my Jane,” she said, visibly relieved. “A black dress, I assume?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Come along upstairs, then,” said Nancy, standing and helping Jane to her unsteady feet. “Let’s go see Edith and Miriam. We have to celebrate!”

  “Miriam passed too, I take it?”

  “Oh, of course she did,” said Nancy. Jane cringed inwardly at this; of course Miriam had passed, but her mother had been clearly quite worried about her own daughter.

  And the worst part was she was right to be so.

  “Oh, Jane!” said Nancy. “I’m so proud of you.” And with that she embraced her daughter, a rare though coveted occurrence—and in this case, an entirely undeserved reward.

  4

  * * *

  JANE HAD HAD QUITE ENOUGH tea for the day, but she politely accepted a cup after Edith welcomed her into the farmhouse’s kitchen with embraces and tears of joy that were agonizing to endure. Worse, however, was Miriam’s reaction—she was, as always, reserved, but the emotion in her eyes was sincere. Under other circumstances, Jane would have been truly moved by the support and enthusiasm of these women, but receiving it when she didn’t deserve it was a kind of torture.

  Nancy was not talented at idleness; not long after their return, she was up and making some hot water crust pastry for the raised meat pie that would be their celebration dinner.

  “The Test wasn’t always a test of one’s self,” said Edith, answering some question Miriam had asked. Jane had only been half listening as she mulled over in her mind what had happened in her dream. “It’s only since the last, oh, fifty years or so that they changed it, right, Nance?” Nancy nodded. “The Société felt that studying for a proper examination was pointless. Only apprentices with the aptitude necessary for the Art ever make it far in their studies. We needed to test whether they had the disposition for it.”

  “I never even thought about that,” said Miriam, as Jane kept her expression studiously neutral. “I imagine it might go poorly for the Société—and others—if someone violent or dangerous became a Master.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t stop that,” said Nancy. “It’s more . . . if diabolic possession isn’t going to make someone happy, then it’s just all such a waste, isn’t it?”

  “A waste?” asked Jane, and then cursed herself for prying.

  “A waste of time, a waste of resources . . . and for what?”

  “Oh, come now, Nancy, you know what it’s for.” Edith reached into her bag and took out a silver compact mirror. Dipping her finger into the powder, she tapped it along her brow line and looked up at them out of big blue eyes that had been dark brown a moment before. “There are other professions that are more lucrative, or that put one more in the spotlight . . . but none so powerful as ours. We take the world, Nancy, and we remake it to our will!”

  “Only temporarily,” said Nancy. Indeed, Edith’s eyes were already darkening. “It is not good to get too cocky about what we can do, sister mine.”

  “Pardon me for implying diabolism might be fun!”

  “What’s not fun about spending all day, every day in a dark library under the earth, all alone, in silence?” Nancy smiled archly down at her pastry as she worked on shaping little vines and leaves for the top of the pie.

  Edith’s eyes rolled to meet Jane’s, and for the first time since she’d realized how poorly things had gone during her Test, Jane’s smile was genuine.

  Diabolism was her birthright. A test couldn’t tell her she was ill suited for it. She was just a bit different from the average diabolist. There had to be room for a range of experiences, surely; otherwise, all diabolists woul
d be the same, and that just wasn’t the case.

  “Ah, girls,” said Edith. “I’m ever so glad you passed. Why, if you hadn’t . . .”

  Jane’s smile faltered.

  “Edith!” Jane and Miriam both snapped to attention at the tone in Nancy’s voice. She was angry for some reason Jane could not perceive.

  “What?” Now Miriam was the one asking unnecessary follow-up questions. “What would have happened?”

  Nancy answered, speaking over Edith. “Not that it’s important, given you both passed, but when apprentices fail, it can be a bit of a problem. By then, they have intimate knowledge of our organization and our ways and even the locations of our members. Sometimes stern measures have to be taken.”

  As this sank in, Jane’s eyes found Miriam’s. The revelation was just as shocking to her, given her pale face and pinched expression, though she of course had no reason to fear for her personal safety.

  Jane, on the other hand . . .

  Edith, who was never one to read a room, elaborated on her sister’s point. “Nobody’s ever thrilled for it to happen, but it does. We try to make the best of it, but sometimes failed apprentices are deemed to be more useful as their physical components. There are, as you know, more arcane armamentaria that use bits of people. The Société tries to keep a stockpile on hand, so that people don’t have to run the risk of obtaining what they need through baser means.”

  Everything about the Société had always seemed so civilized to Jane. It had never occurred to her that the Art’s more outré practitioners might to this day be accepted within its ranks.

  “Oh, stop looking at me like that,” said Edith, as Nancy continued to glare. “They passed, didn’t they? And now they’re on to the next phase in their education, which means their understanding of the Art will only increase.”

  Jane willed herself to stop sweating. She could not betray herself now—not ever.

  “No need for them to learn it all in one day, much less the same day as their Test,” said Nancy. “Besides which, I’m sure neither of you girls would have been rendered for parts. Your family connection to the Société makes you an ideal candidate for a number of jobs that Master diabolists aren’t able to do, for one reason or another. Being amenable to that sort of employment has spared many a failed apprentice.” Nancy paused, and after looking from Jane’s face to Miriam’s, seemed to realize she hadn’t made either of them feel any better. “What I’m trying to say is that we’re not bloodthirsty monsters; we are, after all, a society. But of course it’s for the best that you both passed!”

  Jane nodded on instinct; a purely animal sense of self-preservation.

  So, a failure like her wasn’t seen as useful for merely her organs and bone fragments. Her labor could also be made use of. And that was considered mercy!

  Jane knew in that moment she’d need to find a way to hide her failure, and hide it perfectly, hide it forever. She wouldn’t let the Société consign her to the scrap heap, nor would she be their grateful servant.

  She would become a phenomenal diabolist, no matter what anyone else thought.

  There was her answer: no matter what anyone else thought. If they all thought she was phenomenal, her position would be secure. The best and the brightest always received the least supervision. So, she’d just have to fool them all.

  Edith had finished her tea—and, incredibly, another slice of cake. She now reached for a red-cheeked apple that sat in a low wicker basket on the table. “So, you’ve passed your Test, and Nancy says you both have strong ideas for your Practical—really, I’m quite astonished at your ambition. But I wonder, have you given much thought to what you’ll do afterward?” She bit deeply into the fruit, as if she hadn’t eaten for hours.

  “They have plenty of time to think about that,” said Nancy, and Jane perceived a note of warning in her mother’s voice.

  She suspected that Edith would ignore it.

  The subject of “the future” had always been a sore one in the Blackwood household. Nancy would only say, “We’ll just have to see what life holds for us all, won’t we?” whenever either girl had mentioned the question of “what’s next”—and the way she said it invited no further remarks. Thus, Jane had always felt a vague sense of shame surrounding her desire to go beyond Hawkshead and see the world. She knew it would not please her mother.

  “Plenty of time?” said Edith, after swallowing. “Not at the rate they’re going! Really, they can’t start any sooner. They may not come away from their studies certain which demon they want to summon, or what they want to do with their lives. An internship could provide some helpful guidance, but they have to apply for those, and that means researching what’s available. But it’s something that could really broaden their horizons.”

  “They have every book on diabolism ever written below their feet.” Nancy had paused in her adorning of the top of their dinner pie with a magnificent pastry bird. “Their horizons are sufficiently broad.”

  The mood in the room had changed, the warm kitchen now downright icy. Jane looked from one woman to the other, and then to Miriam, who looked as unhappy as Jane felt about suddenly being the subject of bickering.

  “I’m not saying their education has been neglected or that they’re ignorant little beasts, Nance,” said Edith. “I’m just saying that it seems the world will be ours again, soon, and they might want to experience a bit of it. We did at their age—and they’ve been cooped up here for years now.”

  “Cooped up! They’re not chickens.”

  “No, but you’re being a goose! There’s no harm in them thinking about what they want to do with their lives.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’d like to do an internship. Abroad.” Jane interrupted her elders—rude, yes, but she couldn’t bear their sniping at one another a moment longer. Usually something like this happened once or twice during Edith’s visits, but Jane really didn’t want to be the cause of a fight—not after everything that had already happened.

  “See?” said Edith, but Jane cringed at the triumphant tone in her aunt’s voice.

  “Well!” said Nancy. Her mother was very obviously offended, so it didn’t quite ring true when she said, “That’s fine. Where would you like to go?”

  Jane didn’t know what to say, given the uncertain results of her Test, and how upset her mother was about this turn the conversation had taken.

  “Go on, Jane,” said Edith. “What were you thinking?”

  “I’d like to travel,” said Jane, almost whispering it. “I want to study more, but I also want to see big cities and ancient ruins and other countries. What’s left of them, at least.”

  “Oh, Jane!” cried Edith. “I know the reports from the front have been terrible—and it’s true, the devastation is heartbreaking. The world will never be the same. But there’s still so much out there!”

  “A big city. Very ambitious.” Nancy’s mouth was an inscrutable line. “Those internships are always highly competitive. It can be difficult to get exactly the one you want unless you’ve really impressed the Société with your work.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been hard to swallow Nancy’s words, her tone, and her apparent belief that Jane might fail to sufficiently impress the Société. But coming on the heels of Jane failing her Test, it was almost too much to be endured. Jane felt her face go red, in spite of her best efforts to keep it and herself under control.

  “There are always plenty of opportunities for those who want them.” Edith had noticed Jane’s distress but was pretending not to.

  Nancy hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. “Yes, but included in that ‘plenty’ are internships in some rural town, even if it is a town in another country.”

  “While all that’s true, I’m certain you will excel in your studies and be able to have your pick of opportunities when the time comes, Jane,” said Edith.

  At the crispness in her sister’s tone, Nancy finally glanced up at Edith and then her own daughter
.

  “I’ve always believed my daughter is capable of achieving anything she wants,” she said. Jane knew that was Nancy’s way of apologizing, but what Jane felt wasn’t relief. It was something she couldn’t quite name: part anger, part self-loathing, part resentment.

  “What have you to say about all this, Miriam?” asked Nancy, changing the subject.

  Miriam stared at the dregs of her tea for a moment. When she looked up, Jane was horrified to see her friend’s eyes were red and her lower lip was trembling. Jane realized in that horrible moment that she hadn’t just upset her mother by speaking her mind, she’d upset her friend, too.

  She’d ruined their evening by trying to save it.

  Jane’s earlier warm feelings for Miriam went cold. It hadn’t been her intention to hurt anyone. In her haste to stop what had seemed like an impending row between sisters, she’d caused other, worse problems. She’d been trying to help—and just like her Test, she’d failed.

  “I . . . I . . .” Miriam had gotten sufficient control of herself to speak, but she seemed nervous for some reason. Jane was beyond caring, though she maintained an expression of polite interest.

  “Go on,” said Nancy, in a more kindly manner than she’d spoken to Jane.

  “I don’t have expectations,” said Miriam, so softly they all leaned in to hear, “but if . . . if there was an internship here . . . I really love the Library—the books, I mean, and the Library itself, too. I wouldn’t mind learning more about it, not that I’m after your job, I mean, I just—”

  “Miriam, first things first, there will always be a place for you here, as long as you want it,” said Nancy. “This is your home! How could you think otherwise, after all this time?”

  “Yes, but internships have to be approved by the Société,” said Edith, as she inspected her apple for any bits of flesh still clinging to the core. “You know Markus’s apprentice Lieke has her heart set on coming here, and she’s highly promising.”

  “I wasn’t talking about an internship,” said Nancy.