THE FACT THAT MIRIAM HAD taken control of her mother’s body was the least of Jane’s problems, which was really saying something.
More pressing concerns were her familiar’s shadow, the imminent arrival of her father, and the freely bleeding cuts that stung badly as she dabbed at them with her mother’s red-stained handkerchief. How a shadow could have claws, and strength enough to rake them across a face, Jane did not know, and her mind kept returning to the idea over again and again as they walked.
Miriam was right. They needed to trap Smudge’s shadow.
As to how they would, Jane was more than a little skeptical. As much as she wanted to believe Miriam, she thought this “devil-trap” seemed a bit old-fashioned and obscure. Then again, why would Smudge’s shadow painstakingly set up an alarm on the very scroll that explained how to trap a demon? That had to mean something.
Even so, it was hard not to feel it was all a fool’s errand as she watched her mother—or, rather, her friend—pushing awkwardly through the tangled bushes beneath Miriam’s bedroom window. Jane looked on, bemused, as her mother’s body stood up and silently waved a scroll and a package over her head at Jane in just the way Miriam would. As she lurched her way back, Jane saw Miriam had acquired two dirt stains marring the front of Nancy’s skirt from where she’d been kneeling in the mud, and she didn’t even bother to dust them off before pelting over.
“Here it is,” she said. Her affect and manners were so unsettlingly Miriam-like. “Let’s go see what we can learn.”
Jane’s spirits sank yet further as she realized Miriam hadn’t so much as looked at this scroll yet. Smudge’s shadow may have gone after ducks, but now it was their goose that was cooked.
“Scat!”
Jane looked up from these glum musings to see Miriam standing at the back door of the kitchen, her path blocked by a fluffy gray cat who sat in the doorway, still as a statue, its tail curled neatly around its feet.
“Go on, Smudge!” Miriam urged the cat with Nancy’s voice, but when she nudged at the beast with her shoe, he hissed and swiped at her foot.
“Meow,” said Smudge.
“Stop that!” Jane scolded the cat. To her alarm, he hissed at her. “Remember the Pact!”
“Meow!” said Smudge again, but he yielded, standing with all the pomp and disdain of a displaced cat to slink off into the darkness of the house. Jane wasn’t sure whether it would be better to call him back or let him go, but Miriam distracted her by charging inside and demanding Jane sit down. Miriam wanted to look at the cuts on her face.
“That thing really got you,” said Miriam, mothering her in a way that made Jane uncomfortable. “Hold still—this will sting.”
“Bragging scars,” said Jane, wincing as Miriam applied iodine to her cuts. She wasn’t as resigned to it as she sounded, but it would have been inappropriate for her to mope. “Too bad Smudge won the duel on my behalf.”
“If you feel self-conscious about it, wear a hat with a veil. It would look very dramatic.”
That brought a wry smile to Jane’s lips. “Just right for Hawkshead.”
“You’ll be leaving Hawkshead,” said Miriam, and there was none of the catch in her voice that Jane had ever heard from both Nancy and Miriam alike when the conversation turned to Jane’s future plans. “I know you’re the witch of the family, but I can see the future. I see you in Morocco. You’re wearing a black hat with a bit of veil coming down to cover your scars. You’re entering a party, everyone is sitting on cushions, smoking hookahs, and you shrug off your black fur coat, and you say—”
“I say, it’s bloody hot in here—why am I wearing a fur coat in Morocco!”
Jane and Miriam both giggled at that.
It was a moment as wonderful as it was brief. Jane hoped it was a sign that the rift between them was closing. But for now, there was work to be done.
“Enough of that,” said Jane, admonishing herself as much as her friend. “We have devils to trap.”
Miriam unfurled the scroll. “Best get to reading, then.”
Jane could read a bit of Hebrew—not a lot of it, but enough to get by. They scanned the scroll side by side in companionable silence, another moment that felt precious and new and yet like something Jane had been missing. Then she saw what they needed, and forgot everything else.
“Look here,” she said, pointing. “We’ll need—”
Miriam’s scream erupted from Nancy’s throat. Jane leaped to her feet to steady her; then guided her into a chair. As Miriam sat, Jane saw the sweat beading her forehead.
“It’s trying!” she gasped. “My body!”
“Which body?”
Jane hated to ask—it felt rude—but it was unclear and likely important to know.
Miriam pointed upstairs. “Jane, it’s trying to pull me back . . .”
“Hang in there,” said Jane.
“I will. I have to,” said Miriam, through gritted teeth. “If I don’t, we’ve lost. The demon will take my place.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” asked Jane. Miriam looked wracked, miserable.
“No, but there’s something I can do. I’m just afraid to do it.”
Jane didn’t like the sound of this. “What is it?”
Miriam looked up at her. “I knew whatever happened that this would be a one-way trip for me. I can’t go back. My body is too damaged.”
“Too damaged for what?”
“There’s a reason Indigator still wants Nancy. My body is . . . worthless. It’s dying. I’m dying.”
Jane swallowed, then asked what felt like a terrible question. “You said there was something you could do, though.”
“If I stay . . . from what I understand—not that there’s much written about this—we’d become one person,” said Miriam. “There would be no distinction between us. Neither of us would survive; we’d become someone new, the two of us, together.”
Jane had often wondered if her mother wished Miriam had been her daughter and Jane, her ward. Now, Miriam was speaking out of her mother’s mouth about combining their souls. Jane couldn’t speak or nod or even think, but Miriam was looking at her expectantly, as if Jane could possibly grant her the permission she needed for this act. Then Miriam cried out again, and as she clutched at her chest, she nearly knocked the all-important scroll off the kitchen table.
“Do it.” The words escaped Jane’s mouth before she knew what she was saying. “If there’s no other way, there’s no other way.”
“I’m afraid,” whispered Miriam. “I don’t know what will happen.”
“Nobody ever does,” said Jane, as Miriam bent over in agony. “Remember, no shortcuts for diabolists. Only sacrifices!”
Miriam smiled thinly at this reminder of her mentor’s favorite expression. Jane closed her eyes. She was weak with the enormity of what she’d just done. Just the act of giving Miriam permission made her complicit in whatever happened next.
It occurred to her that Miriam would at least get something she wanted—if she could pass herself off as Nancy, she could stay here, at the Library, for as long as she liked.
Jane cast about for a similar thought in regard to what Nancy might want, but Jane had never quite understood what it was her mother wanted. The only thing she could come up with was but a small, bitter perk: this way, she wouldn’t really be Nancy’s daughter anymore, and that would probably come as some relief to them both.
She felt arms around her. They were arms she knew well—arms that had never held her as often as she might have liked. Jane let herself relax into the embrace, taking some pure animal comfort in the sensation of physical contact, even though she knew it wasn’t really her mother holding her.
Eventually, Miriam whispered, “Thank you,” in Jane’s ear. She broke their embrace and stepped back as the wail of a cat echoed through the farmhouse.
Jane waited for the other woman—whoever she was—to say something, and then waited another moment more. Nancy’s body remained silent, the expression on her familiar face shocked and yet strangely slack. Jane understood, but they didn’t have time for existential pondering. They needed to mend this devil-trap and bind Smudge’s shadow, so she prompted whoever it was who stood before her.
“What do I call you?” asked Jane.
The woman smiled almost sheepishly. “Not Mother,” she said. “But other than that, I’m willing to entertain suggestions. We could stick with Miriam if you wanted. That might make us both more comfortable. Nancy’s fine, too—but I never felt comfortable calling my mother by her first name.”
Her manner was frank, as Nancy’s had been, and warm, as Miriam’s was—or at least the way it had been once upon a time when they had gotten along so famously. The eager twinkle in her strange but familiar eye was neither Miriam’s nor Nancy’s; even so, Jane liked it.
She liked this woman, if first impressions could be trusted.
Jane had an idea. “What about Cornelia?” she suggested. Their shared middle name seemed almost prophetic, at this point.
“Of course,” said the woman now called Cornelia. “Good idea.”
“So, Cornelia,” said Jane, warming to it, “what do you think we should do next?” Jane looked around, but there was no sign anywhere of either Smudge or Smudge’s shadow. “We still need to fix your devil-trap, and—”
“No, we don’t,” said Cornelia.
Jane paused. She’d assumed that when Miriam and Nancy became one being, their memories would combine, too.
“But Smudge’s shadow is still loose and dangerous,” said Jane slowly. “Don’t you remember?”
“Of course I do. That’s why it’s time for you to banish it,” said Cornelia. “All this business with devil-traps and scrolls . . . there’s no need for it.”
“But—”
“No more buts,” said Cornelia, sounding very much like Nancy once had. “The only reason we needed to mend the bowl was to prevent the Lord Indigator from taking possession of Nancy. That problem has been solved—perhaps not ideally, but at least permanently—which means it’s in all of our best interests for you to send Smudge back from whence he came. The dying body upstairs might seem more appetizing now that this one has been taken.”
Jane stared at Cornelia. This woman already didn’t look much like her mother anymore; the way she carried herself, the set of her chin, her motions—they were all different. But she was acting like Nancy, a bit . . . that imperiousness was extremely familiar. And frankly, a lot like Miriam, when she was at her most impossible.
Only then did Jane realize her mother and her best friend were really and truly gone—gone forever, like rainwater soaking into the earth.
“Best not to dawdle,” said Cornelia, as if Jane were idling out of laziness. “Only you can do it.”
“I don’t want to banish Smudge,” said Jane. “We agreed not to. He saved me—earlier, I mean, when the shadow attacked. It’s the shadow that’s the problem, not him!”
“That’s not what happened, Jane,” said Cornelia. Jane began to feel as if that first, positive impression had been deceiving. This woman may have acquired Miriam’s wry humor and Nancy’s confidence, but she seemed to be twice as much of a know-it-all. “Smudge wasn’t very concerned for you, from what I saw.”
“What do you mean?” said Jane, shocked. Smudge had battled the shadow-cat and gotten it off her, then defended her from it when it had tried to go back for a second strike.
“He didn’t exactly leap to your defense like a loyal mastiff,” said Cornelia. “He waited until it was convenient for him. Hardly the action of a devoted familiar.”
Jane didn’t like this, not one bit. It seemed that no matter what, Nancy and Miriam would always end up ganging up on her . . .
“Jane,” said Cornelia. “I know you’re very attached to Smudge, but that demon is a menace, and not only that . . .”
“What?”
“It’s just . . . your first binding didn’t go so well, now did it?” said Cornelia, with a patronizing tone that set Jane’s teeth on edge. “I can’t find any possible justification for trying it again.”
Jane looked into the eyes of this woman who sneered at her like her mother but was not her mother, who spoke without thought for anyone’s feelings like her friend, but was not her friend. Their earlier pleasant moment left Jane’s mind as her temper flared. How dare this woman suggest Jane banish Smudge! Smudge had supported her—he’d saved her, no matter what this newly minted “Cornelia” said.
Something brittle inside Jane finally snapped. She’d tried—by all the demons in the Book, she’d tried! Her whole life had been one long exhausting exercise in failing to live up to her mother’s expectations, worrying about the Société’s rules, trying not to hurt her friend’s feelings—doing what she could to be what everyone demanded of her and never achieving it.
No longer.
She’d failed her Test, hadn’t she? And failed in other ways, too. Cornelia was yet another manifestation of Jane’s hubris, after all. And the unbound shadow prowling around the house, wreaking havoc here and in the village while Jane’s eye was elsewhere . . . for Sam’s death was on her hands, too.
It had been madness to ever think they’d get away with any it—fooling Jane’s father, hiding Smudge, explaining away the state of the Library by blaming influenza, convincing the Société that all was well and she and Miriam were on the path to Mastery . . . Patrice Durand would have seen through it in an instant, and meted out what justice he saw fit.
We’re not witches, Jane!
Maybe not, but Jane vowed she’d be gone by the time the moon was up—flying away on her broom for once and for all, just as she’d always dreamed of doing. She was surprised by her reaction to the thought; she had not expected to cry when it came time for her to leave this place, but she was.
“All right,” she croaked, and from the relieved look on Cornelia’s face, not even Jane’s idols on the silver screen had ever given a more convincing performance of resignation and grief. “I’ll need to get a few things.”
“Do you need any help?” asked Cornelia. She was all sympathy now that Jane was seemingly obedient.
“Not yet,” said Jane.
The tear she wiped away was real, but she let Cornelia come to her own conclusions about why she wept.
As Jane left the kitchen, Cornelia said, “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I know.”
In fact, Jane had never felt more confident in her life.
JANE CALLED FOR SMUDGE as soon as Cornelia was out of earshot. She knew he would be close at hand. He had to be.
The cat emerged from the shadows as she reached the top of the stairs. She looked down at him fondly.
“Meow,” he said.
“Come with me,” said Jane. “We need to talk.”
“Meow,” agreed Smudge. He sauntered inside her room first, tail held high.
She shut the door behind them. “Smudge, will you please you call your shadow here?” It never hurt to be polite.
Smudge nodded. He jumped up on the desk, and a moment later, there the shadow was on the wall behind her cat, just where it should be—even if it shouldn’t be looking at Jane out of those empty but expressive almond eyes.
“Hello,” said Jane.
The shadow cocked its smoky head at her.
“It was very naughty of you to slash my face,” said Jane.
The shadow-cat licked its paw, making a show of ignoring her.
Jane turned back to Smudge. She hoped the cat would not notice how she’d started sweating. But the truth was, she was nervous. Her previous attempts to bargain with demons had not been unalloyed successes, as Cornelia had pointed out.
“For safety’s sake,” said Jane, “will you please secure this room completely? I’d like it so that we can’t be overheard or interrupted as we speak. I don’t want anyone to be able to come in here or leave, given Cornelia’s attitude toward us both.”
Smudge nodded, his tail lashing back and forth across her desk.
Jane smiled at him. “Does that mean you have ensured that no one can observe us, and no one can come or go, until I say so?”
Once again, the cat nodded.
Jane sat on her bed and patted the patch of quilt beside her. The cat jumped over, proving once and for all that it was not a cat.
“She wants me to banish you,” said Jane, and then looked to the shadow. “Both of you. But I don’t want to.”
“Meow,” said Smudge.
“I’m ready to leave this all behind me,” said Jane, speaking the truth of her heart aloud to this beast, just as she had always done. “But I can’t. Not yet.”
Smudge said nothing. He and his shadow watched her out of narrowed eyes, waiting to hear what she had to say.
“I can’t leave here with your shadow loose and able to do as it likes,” said Jane. “We all know you can’t be trusted,” she said, turning to the shadow. “That’s the truth. So here’s your choice, Smudge—and Smudge’s shadow. I just ordered you to secure this room so that no one and nothing will ever leave it again. I will never release you from that unless you let me bind you and your shadow entirely to my will. Do you understand me?”
Both cats stared at her angrily, tails lashing in unison. Jane crossed her arms.
“Half a loaf, and all that,” she said. “Partial freedom with me, or imprisonment—potentially—forever.” She smiled and petted Smudge on the head. “You’d know better than I if you’ll be stuck here after I die. Is your binding stronger than our original contract? That one specified my death, so I’m not quite sure how it would work, beyond that you’d certainly either be banished or trapped . . .”
Jane’s heartbeat was loud in her ears during the long moment that followed.
Smudge and his shadow nodded their assent.
“Excellent,” said Jane. She was very pleased, indeed.
Though Jane worked carefully, the binding went much more quickly than last time. She’d kept such meticulous notes that it was but the work of a moment to set everything up. Threading the needle was the hardest part, but soon enough she was using it to bind the shadow to Smudge, and bind Smudge again under the name Lord Indigator.
When she was done, she knelt down and scooped Smudge up into her arms. He submitted humbly to being held like a baby, on his back, and she kissed his nose.
“That’s a good demon,” she said. And looking at the cat’s shadow on the wall, she said, “And I hope to say the same of you one day.”
The shadow closed its empty eyes and yawned, displaying a jagged, but bored maw of shadow-teeth.
JANE WASN’T SURPRISED WHEN a knock came at the door as she and Smudge were packing her valise. Evening had fallen as they worked; naturally Cornelia would want an update. They had taken their time, thinking carefully about what items, diabolic and mundane, they would take. Edith’s dress was carefully wrapped in paper and set at the bottom; it needed mending before Jane could wear it again. Instead, she had donned her smartest blouse, skirt, and hat. Her cloak she would have to sacrifice, but one day she could get another. Black, just like she’d always wanted.
“Jane?” called Cornelia. “How’s it going?”
“Let her hear me,” Jane said to Smudge. “All right,” she called. “Just trying to do it right the first time, you know! Can’t muck it up.”
“You had everything you needed?” Cornelia seemed surprised and a little suspicious.
Jane thought fast. “No, not everything,” she said. “Could you get me some liquid essence from the storeroom?”
“Why not take a break and come get it with me,” said Cornelia. “You’ve been in there for hours.”
“She’s on to us,” whispered Jane. “We need to get out of here, and quickly.” Smudge nodded as Jane threw the last few items she’d set out into her bag, not bothering to place them carefully as she had with the rest.
“Open the door,” said Cornelia. “Jane, open up! The Patron says—”
But Jane never found out what the Patron had to say. Instead, she placed her broom outside her window to hang there in the early spring gloaming. Valise in hand, Jane took one last look at her room and then turned away to see Smudge had already jumped onto the handle. He purred as she clambered up behind him.
“Meow,” he said.
“That’s just what I was thinking,” said Jane, and turned them up and away from the old farmhouse and into the purple starlit twilight of the wider world.