Charlotte opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Her heart thundered against her ribcage. Where had the woman come from? How had she made the fire roar to life and burning candles appear on the mantelpiece?
“Charlotte Christina Albinia Appleby?” the woman repeated.
Charlotte found her voice. “Who are you?” It came out too high, her voice squeaking on the last word. “What are you doing in my room?”
Thin black eyebrows arched in a movement that was both amused and mocking. “Has your mother not told you?”
“My mother is dead.”
The woman’s lips tilted in a faint smile. “Careless of her.”
“Who are you?” Charlotte demanded again.
“My name is not for you to know.”
“Then leave.” Charlotte scrambled off the bed and stood. She was taller than the woman now. She pointed at the door, trying to make her voice loud and commanding. “Get out of my room!”
The woman didn’t move. “Are you certain that’s what you wish?” The faint, mocking smile touched her lips again. “You haven’t taken your gift.”
“What gift?”
“The gift I owe you.”
The words made no sense. “Who are you?”
The woman’s smile widened, showing her teeth. They were as white and even and pointed as a cat’s.
Charlotte took an involuntary step back.
“You call my kind Faeries.”
Instinctively, Charlotte shook her head—there was no such thing as Faeries. But the evidence was before her: Those black eyes and sharp white teeth were clearly not human.
The prickling on her scalp, on the nape of her neck, intensified. It felt as if every hair stretched itself on end. “Have . . . have you been watching me today?”
The woman’s smile seemed to widen fractionally, her teeth to grow infinitesimally sharper. “What do you choose? Levitation? Metamorphosis? Translocation?”
Charlotte swallowed. She clutched her hands tightly together. “Why are you offering me a gift?”
“Because I owe it to you.”
“You owe me?”
“One of your ancestors did me a service. As payment, she demanded a wish for each of her daughters.” The woman’s mouth twisted, as if she tasted something sour. “And their daughters in turn.”
Charlotte turned this answer over in her mind, trying to make sense of it. “You gave my mother a gift?”
“On her twenty-fifth birthday, yes.”
Charlotte shook her head again. No. Not possible. But her mouth was already forming words: “What did she choose?”
“Levitation.”
Charlotte blinked. “My mother could . . . fly?”
The woman ignored this question. She leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Charlotte. Dark eyes. Predatory eyes. “Make your choice.”
Charlotte tried not to recoil. She moistened her lips. “How long do I have?”
“Until midnight.”
Charlotte’s gaze jumped to the clock—half past seven—then back to the woman’s face. “Why tonight?”
“Because the women in your line receive their wishes on their twenty-fifth birthdays.”
Line? Her mind fastened on the word. “There are other lines?” Other women who’d had been offered this choice?
“That is not relevant to you.” The woman’s gaze became sharper, blacker, skewering her like a moth pinned to paper. “Choose your gift.”
Fear shivered up the back of Charlotte’s neck. She rubbed the skin, trying to force the sensation away. She sat carefully on the end of the bed. Thoughts churned in her head, possibilities spilling over one another. A Faerie gift. She could be free of her aunt and uncle’s charity. Free of Westcote Hall. Free to live a life of her own choosing.
What gift should I take? Not levitation. Something that gave her independence.
“Money,” Charlotte said. “Can you give me money?”
The woman’s pale upper lip curled in scorn. “Money? No, that is not within my power.” Her eyelids lowered for a moment, then lifted again. She smiled, showing her teeth. “But I can give you the golden touch. If that’s what you wish?”
“No!” Charlotte jerked back on the bed. “Not that!” To be Midas? To turn everyone she touched into gold?
The woman’s lips folded together. Spite glittered in her eyes.
Charlotte’s heart began to beat even faster. She’ll trick me if she can, give me a gift that will harm me. I must choose wisely. “What are the gifts I may choose from?”
“You wish me to list them all? We haven’t time. You must choose quickly.”
Charlotte pushed her spectacles up her nose and tried to look as if she weren’t terrified. “There’s plenty of time.” Her voice was firm, with no squeak to betray her. “Midnight is several hours away.” Fear trembled inside her, but alongside the fear was determination. You won’t rush me into a mistake. “The other gifts. What are they?”
The woman’s face seemed to narrow, her eyes to grow larger and darker, to swallow more of the candlelight. “Levitation,” she said, in a voice that was as thin and sharp as a knife blade. “The ability to tell truth from lies. Translocation. Longevity—”
“What’s translocation?”
“The ability to transfer yourself from one place to another.”
Charlotte frowned, considering this. I could translocate to London. I could . . . What? Rob a bank? She shook her head. “Please continue.”
“Control of fire. Metamorphosis—”
“What’s that?”
“The ability to change shape.”
Charlotte turned this over in her head. “Could I be another person?”
“A person, an animal.”
“Is it permanent?”
“I can make it permanent, if that’s what you want.” The pale eyelids lowered and lifted, the black eyes gleamed. The woman seemed to lean forward fractionally on the wooden chair, like a hunting dog that had scented prey yet dared not move from its place at its master’s feet.
“And if I don’t want that?” Charlotte said hastily.
The terrible eagerness dissipated. “You may change back when you choose.”
Charlotte glanced down at the newspaper, with its singed pages and columns of type. “So . . . I could be a man?”
“If you wish.”
Is that what I want? To be a man? To be able to obtain better employment than I can as a woman? “What else?” Charlotte asked, looking back at her guest. “What are the other gifts?”
“The ability to communicate with animals. Augmented physical strength. The ability to hear others’ thoughts.” The woman paused. “Are you certain you don’t wish for that?” Her voice was honeyed, sweet, persuasive. “It’s a powerful gift.”
The tone was warning enough. Charlotte shook her head.
Malice flickered across the woman’s face, making the pale skin stretch more tightly over the bones. “Invisibility,” she said. “Enhanced hearing. The ability to see in the dark. The ability to find things. Foresight.”
“Please stop,” Charlotte said. “I need to think.” She closed her eyes. What do I want most?
The answer was easy. She wanted to earn her way in life. To be independent. To never need the Westcotes’ charity again.
Invisibility, translocation, levitation . . . they wouldn’t give her that. They were nothing more than showy tricks, useless unless she wanted employment as a freak at a fair. Or to steal money instead of earn it.
Charlotte opened her eyes. She stared down at the newspaper. Wanted immediately, a single YOUNG MAN to act as a Gentleman’s secretary.
If she chose metamorphosis, she could apply for that position—or any other that she liked. Tutor. Secretary. Schoolmaster. She could study at Oxford. She could enter the church and take orders. She could be a solicitor or merchant or diplomat’s aide. She could travel the world.
Charlotte pressed her fingertips to her mouth. Is this what I truly want? To be a man? She lifted her head and stared across the brightly lit room at her guest.
The woman stared back, her eyes not reflecting the candlelight.
Charlotte lowered her hands. “Tell me about metamorphosis, please. How does it work?”
Impatience flickered across that pale, inhuman face. “You think of who or what you want to become, wish yourself to change—and it happens.”
“What about my clothes?”
“They don’t change.”
Charlotte nodded. “And when I want to change back to myself? Do I simply wish it?”
“Yes.”
“I can do it as often as I like?”
“Yes.”
“And I can take as many shapes as I like? I can be a bird and fly? And then a fish and swim in the sea?”
“You may be any animal that exists in this realm. Creatures that exist in our realm are forbidden.”
Images of what those creatures might be flashed into Charlotte’s mind. Gryphons. Unicorns. Basilisks. She pushed them aside and studied the woman. “What are the dangers?”
The woman’s eyelids lowered. She said nothing.
“What are the dangers?” Charlotte repeated.
The pale eyelids rose. The eyes staring at her were ink-black with malevolence.
Charlotte’s mouth was suddenly dry. The hair lifted on her scalp again. It was like being in a cage with a leashed lion, knowing the creature would harm her if it could. She pushed her spectacles up her nose and raised her chin. I will not let you intimidate me into making a mistake. “What are the dangers?”
The woman’s lips parted to show sharp, glinting teeth. “If you’re pregnant, you will lose the babe.”
Charlotte almost recoiled from the gleeful malice in that smile, the gleeful malice in that voice. She controlled her flinch, and considered this answer. What is the chance of my marrying? Having children? “Are there any other dangers?”
“No.”
Charlotte eyed her guest. “Could I forget who I am and become an animal in truth?”
The woman uttered a snakelike hiss of impatience. “No. Only your outward form changes. Inside, you remain yourself.”
“Could I change form without meaning to? If I’m tired or distracted or . . . or asleep?”
“You only change if you deliberately wish it.” The woman’s lips parted in another glinting, gleeful, sharp-toothed smile. “Or if you die. Then, you return to your true form.”
Charlotte shivered. What other possible dangers were there? “Could someone make me change shape without my wishing it?”
“No.”
Charlotte stared down at the newspaper advertisements. Her heart beat fast and staccato beneath her breastbone. Emotions churned in her stomach: fear, excitement. She was aware of the woman watching her, aware of the flames roaring in the fireplace, aware of the clock ticking away the minutes until midnight.
Charlotte took a deep breath. She raised her head and met the woman’s eyes. “I choose metamorphosis.”